I am from too long grass that left muted green stains on my knees From rock gardens overrun with punny yellow snapdragons which delivered into my care all sorts of fascinating creepy crawlers
I'm from ash grey two by fours which were all together fun to climb on but gave nasty splinter when they were mad
I'm from the woodchips and sand that provided me an elaborate landscape in which to house my boundless imagination
I'm from the tail of sulfur smoke that burned white hot through the crisp October Sky and propelled my rocket to high heaven or so it seemed to my eger eyes
I am from Thursdays from green and red rhubarb leaves and dirt under every fingernail I'm from hurling half-rotten tomatoes at the fence accross the ally and running haphazardly from angry neighbors
I'm from lasagna and jell-o candels on Christmas eve and the squirt bottle of water my only defense against ants
I am from obscure old families who came over like so many others and played the ***** in the secret choir loft above the church I'm from woodwinds and piano strings and never a silent moment From reading aloud and reading alone and from those who did the reading
I'm from the future and the present and the past of a million different stories And I've always been headed towards Where I'm from.