Where I’m From
I am from vinyl records, from Levi jeans and Mac & Cheese.
I am from a one square mile town
(with three bars and two tracks,
both clinkin’ and clankin’ in the middle of night.)
I am from the pear, the apple trees whose gifts drop,
only to rot.
I’m from bar-b-que and varicose veins,
from Bob and Rusty and Lemuel.
I’m from busy bees and social butterflies
I’m from knuckle sandwiches and thunder thighs.
I’m from Sunday school buses
with candied bribes
I’m from lost Italians and West Virginia mines,
cannoli and baked beans.
From grandpa’s blackened lungs,
and dad’s agent orange.
Few remain, but new generations come.
I’ll show them the old smileless pictures, letters penned in cursive,
and trinkets in a dusty box.
I’ll share my roots, then watch them grow.