I am from clotheslines,
from grass stains and boo-boos.
I am from tall pines.
(Stretching high,
too far for me to see.)
I am from music, but not from my time,
from Beatles to Pink Floyd,
whose lyrics I still sing today.
I am from gravy and mandolins,
from Elsie and Seldon,
from the hard workers and the cooks in the kitchen.
I am from the “Golden Rule” and “always try hard”,
from learn your verses to my worn pink bible.
I am from the 66 books,
and the stories I have been told since birth.
I am from Baker’s Branch,
fried corn bread and coffee, black as night.
From the finger my uncle lost to a pick axe,
to the bed-ridden grandfather I have known all my life.
I am from my memories-
Not documented by photographs-
But instead imprinted into my memory.
