Here is a single poem by Shannon Holliday. It captures so much, images, story, language. Enjoy!

Where I’m From 

I am from cast iron skillets.

From mason jars and canning salt. 

I am from snow tracked inside

(melting, puddling;

come warm your hands by the fire).

I am from sassafras, from timothy grass

Hay fresh cut and drying.

I am from cinnamon rolls and good stock. 

From Mary Lola and Gertrude Lula.

I am from the old ways and my way or the highway.

I am from God is Love and women who run with the wolves.

I am from the “Mon” and Corbin Branch,

Ambrosia and applesauce.

From dad was one of seven and mom was one of four, 

And too many cousins, so we all got called by another’s name.

I am from the attic and the barn, the stones we gathered at the creek bed. 

I am from the tree that held the rope swing, rural with deep roots. 

–      Shannon Holliday (2/4/20)

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