Where I'm From, a poem

I am from cornbread, fried shrimp,

Hushpuppies and grits…

From iced tea, straight up,

Tea bag re-used three times.

I am from the Southern Pine,

Deeply rooted in red clay,
Bending in hurricane winds,

Surrounded by azaleas and dogwoods.

I am from Pecan orchards,

Row upon row of Silver Queen Corn;

Sirmon’s “Big Ol’” Strawberries:

Pick your own.

I am from the afternoon thunderstorm,

Tornado shelters, trailer parks.

From water moccasins in the streets,

Courtesy of Hurricane Frederick.

I am from plaid school uniforms,

Multiplication tables, perfect penmanship

Taught with an Irish brogue

And a ruler.

From respect for our Flag

Folded with military precision,

With dreams of West Point

And horses.

I am from the Lady of Chalot,
Twelfth Night, Psalm 27,

To comfort and soothe my soul.

From the rich melody of

Old family names: 

Guarisco, Lazzari, Bertagnolli…

Surrounding my new one;

Green eyes hiding among dark brown.

I am from fear, anger, violence

And the black leather belt

Hanging on a nail.

I am from the smell of cheap beer,

whiskey watered down;

From Strength in silence,

Hiding for safety,

Quiet, listening.

I am from a childhood misplaced,

Pictures lost, traditions forgotten,

Family scattered

By our own choosing.

Nothing to tie me to home

Except lessons from the past

Learned with my ear
To the floor.

(Inspired by: "Where I'm From" by George Ella Lyon)