Where I'm From...

I am from barefoot summers, from polly flinders and salt herring on buttered biscuits.
I am from the house by the creek, loud and happy and full of love and children.
I am from the marsh grass, tall and thick, dirt divers and sand fiddlers and junebugs.
I am from Monopoly games that last a whole day out on the backporch and stories that got better each time they were told, from Johnny and Marjorie and Kellam.
I am from the modesty and the pride and the inner battle 'twixt the two.
From Yes Ma'am and always please and always thank you.
I am from One Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church in a town full of protestants,
Bingo Night on Wednesday and learning the polka, spaghetti dinners and my best friend Tonya.
I'm from where the Mattaponi and the Pamunkey meet, Sunday dinners prepared all day and sizzling hot chicken legs stolen from beneath a papertowel veil, one for me and one for Daddy.
From Saturday night by the radio, Momma and Daddy dancing with us, singing songs they knew well, the green stamp prizes still there, Saturday afternoon baseball games on a black and white set, loud and lazy, "Who are you rooting for?" "I just like a good game."
I am from heaps of old photographs in the bottom drawer of the mighty secretary with its claw feet and hidden places and key locked glass doors "who's this?" "is this me?"
Tiffany Palm pattern, good silver, with fork tongs so long and sharp, and with a monogram that is no longer mine, A "K" for my father's boy, my brother, whose boy is almost me, save the curls.


My friend Nina posted her version of this poem on her blog awhile ago. Since then I've wanted to give it a whack. It's based on the poem by George Ella Lyons called "Where I'm From". You can read it here.

If you want to try writing your own, click here. It's like a fancy version of Mad Libs...with much more thought involved. Have fun!

p.s. I mistakenly spelled salt herring as salt heron. We did have herons by the creek but, I assure you, we never salted them up and ate them. We did, however, have the salty fish herring on buttery biscuits for breakfast at least once a month when I was a little one.