In response to the beautiful poem, “Where I’m From” by George Ella Lyon, I submit my own history. Where are you from?
I am from young love.
I am from sacrifice, doggedness and the
dashed dreams of a teenage heart.
I am from secrets and mystery.
I am of silence too loud and hearts barely spoken.
From wild, rebel spirits and stubborn longing.
I am of running away and running towards.
Of moving apart and moving on.
I am of freckles and knobby knees.
From azalea bushes, magnolias and Spanish moss.
From bayous and crawfish boils.
I am of long walks and bicycle rides.
I am from dirt roads and gravel drives.
From aluminum houses and brick retreats.
I am of swing sets and clotheslines.
I am from melodies bred in the deep.
I am of daydreams and hunger.
Of whispered prayers shouted from the soul.
I am from laughter and tears, from solitude and fears.
I am of hope and I am of despair.
Of tragedies and miracles.
I am of animal lovers and art makers.
Of healers, diviners and medicine women.
I am of believers and skeptics, of sinners and saints.
I am from the leavers and the taken,
From those who knew not what they did.
I am of wounded hearts made new.
I am from many unknowns and truths yet to be seen.
I am from all of this and so much more.
I am now of eyes peering into what will be.
Of heart and body soaking in the now.
I am of living prayers and dancing feet.