I am from my grandmother,who snuck out of the house to smoke camel non-filtered
I am from the middle of nowhere, not far from town.
I am from the pine tree with a water hose tied on it, where I imagined I was Indiana Jones.
I am from the woods, where the cicadas sang at night.
I am from the kudzu that blanketed the trees and menaced the garden.
I am from the apple trees in the front yard, whose fruit never turned red.
I am from the middle of nowhere, not far from town.
I am from my grandfather’s plaid pockets, where he would pull out suckers.
I am from my father’s mustang that i crashed into the driveway.
I am from my great-grandfather’s picture, proudly displayed on the wooden mantle.
I am from my grandmother’s bible stories, in the back bedroom where she read every night.
I am from the middle of nowhere, not far from town.
I am from Highway 494, where the trees were leveled to build subdivisions.
I am from the soft red clay and moist brown earth of the backyard.
I am from the moonlight I could see from the top of my house late at night.
I am from the sweltering heat and uncut grass in the front yard.
I am from the middle of nowhere, not far from town.
I am from the small cemetary past the corner store, where my grandfather lies next to my grandmother,
and my father next to her.
I am from Uptown New Orleans, where my daughter learns her A.B.C’s in the back bedroom
where she prays every night
I am from the brown bag from the Shell station that i fill with suckers, and sneak to her when her mom isn’t watching.
I am from the picture of us dancing at a music festival, her on my shoulders, displayed proudly on the wooden mantle.
I am not from from anywhere, in the middle of town
