Where i'm From

I am from the washtubs

          To the ivory soap,

To the sewing needles

          From the black ink pen signing

I am from the empty coffee cups,

          To the quilt making from scraps

From the collard green garden growing,

I am from the fresh squeezed lemonade

          To the plant growing and weed pulling,

From the beware of dog signs,

I am from the street lights coming on

          To the “stay where i can see you” park playing,

From the A.D to the Ora Lee,

          To the “i'm not one of your little friends”

From the flour throwing

          To the collard greens and the baked bean

From the hot sauce on everything,

          To the reminiscing old pictures in the photo album

To the old dusty picture boxes

From the unfamiliar faces glancing at me,

I am from the “Goodnight don't let the bedbugs bite”

          To the “A close mouth doesn’t get fed”,

To the soul food cooking,

          Hip swinging, toe tapping,

          Back pain having, tip-toe grooving, music thumbing,

All good memories of family.