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I am from books,
From Triscuts and keyboards.
I am from the white-foamed ocean,
(Gritty, unwelcoming,
smelling always of paint.)
I am from rosebushes,
lavender,
with its strong, bitter scent,
and hard flowers,
and smooth stems.
I’m from camping trips and perpetual pouts,
from Linda Anne and Linda Renee.
I’m from pig-headed women and take-no-prisoner kamikaze maniacs.
I’m from take off your shoes and put on your socks,
from worshipping Sundays
how we like, and on our own sweet time.
I’m from the Great Northwest and Speaks-With-Sparrows,
over-sweet fudge and sunflower seeds.
From the dog chase through cornfields
and the scars left behind,
from centuries of history,
contained in great-grandfather’s mind.
The generations of photographs
tossed into Tupperware drawers
and cardboard boxes,
stuck in albums from the half-finished archives
my mother gave up.
I am those people;
the mother who shares my face,
the grandfather who was buried
four years before we knew he’d died,
forgotten even when alive,
I am the quirks
of crazy great-aunts who fall asleep while standing,
of great-grandmothers who buy clothes they hate,
just so they can return them,
buy something newer, cheaper,
and say that they saved money.
I’m from love,
from prematurely balding cats,
and mysteriously blond sisters
that have made me look at the mailman in a whole new light.
I am from those people,
the ancestors that shaped my past,
And the family that has shaped my present.
 xx_Princess_Aria_xx · Fri Mar 09, 2007 @ 12:40am · 0 Comments |
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