Where I'm From

I read the poem first at Sandra's blog, then got the template to do my own.

Where I'm From

I am from black-and-white portable TV sets, from Jiffy Pop and Volkswagon.

I am from the house in the woods with the long driveway, littered with pineneedles, shag-carpeted, the smell of a wood stove.

I am from the beach grass and the tall white pines, wild lady slippers, Dad's tomato plants and autumn leaf piles.

I am from daily trips to the sea and blue eyes, from Smith and Scrivener and Christobel.

I am from the cold ocean swims and long vacation drives.

From "be a nice person to everybody" and "don't waste half the day sleeping."

I am from it's not what you believe, it's how you live. Sunday school on a farm with a pottery wheel and finger paints.

I'm from Massachusetts, Old England, and Germany, clam chowder and mince pie.

From the news reporter who woke his children in the middle of the night to go see the big fire, the distracted artist who couldn't find herself, the young boy who hid from a spanking in the garden shed, delighted that his father couldn't find him.

I am from a Martha's Vineyard attic, a grandfather's basement workshop full of wonderous junk, old albums at Mom's house full of Polaroid glimpses, snapshots of happiness, gatherings and childhood well lived.