Where I'm From

I am from pencils,

Dixon and Oriole,

Because god knows I write everything down.

I am from the wide-open fields,

the green pastures,

the trickling creek,

the space that forgives my mistakes.

I am from the dogwoods, willows,

pines, maples, cedars…

my dad loves them all.

I am from the Friday night dinners,

and always being told we’re small,

from Mummau, Bink, Brenneman, and Ellwein.

I am from eating too fast,

and being late to everything.

From “love your siblings,

they’ll be with you longer then me”,

from “don’t let them define who you are.”

I am from the protestant churches,

small and white.

I’m from Lancaster, Pennsylvania,

as far back as we can trace,

from coffee, burgers, noodles,

ice cream, and potato chips.

From the “he was a state finalist in wrestling

back in ‘78”, from “I worked 3 jobs in college,

and lived in an apartment with just a bed.”

I am from albums with water stains,

dusty containers under my parent’s bed,

and the disorganized attic,

all beholding the little that’s left,

of my much missed family.

I’m from yellow with red stitching and dirt,

and orange leather dubbed “the rock”,

from grass stained composite sticks,

and a heart that loves the game.

From the girl with less confidence,

then most people assume,

the girl who thinks that

inspiration and faith are the keys to life.

From tear-fogged eyes as I write this,

because although I know it’s not perfect,

it’s where I’m from.