I am from skinned knees, Daisy Duke Big Wheels, and
bike rides deep in the woods. I am from the horseshoe:
sidewalks tread by Brownie scouts, the common ground which
floods and tunnels we'd crawl when days were dry and we felt brave.
I am from newly seeded grass, crab apple blossoms, and crocus bursts
of color when March recalled coats for jackets.
I am from bathrobed Christmas pageants in the living room;
freedom and responsibility; the Johnsons, Moores, and McMurrays.
I am from the impassioned and opinionated who yell loud and laugh hard
and forget to think before we speak. From Shoulders back,
Do your chores, and Hide His Word in your heart.
I am from flannel board disciples and Up from the grave He arose!
kindergarten solos. From paper fans in the colonial chapel,
strawberry festivals on the lawn, and too many danishes
swiped at coffee hour. I'm from Scots Irish Presbyterians,
Pennsylvania Dutchmen and women, burgers on the deck,
buttered corn on the cob, and pot roast every Sunday on fine china
(Use the good silverware!).
From freckled peeling shoulders, days down the shore, and van seats
so hot our thighs would burn. I am from pictures posed on wicker,
lace collars and curls, and hand-me-down bags stuffed brimful
of ill-fitting swim suits, mittens on strings, and a faith rooted deep
with room--and grace--to grow.
I read "Where I'm From" poems over at Steph's and Sarah's first. Do play along using the template here (and read George Ella Lyon's original.) Read more at SheLoves.
