I am from the wings of a dragonfly
The delicate sands of an anthill
Silky threads of milkweed seeds
Opened and tossed to the wind
I am from the roar of a Honda 70
Grasshoppers, gullies and go-carts
Dewey grass on sunburned legs
Arms wrapped around tree trunks
I am from flower power
Hiding in wall flowers
The tickle of rugs in shag
The crumple of paper grocery bags
I am from pumpkin pie with maple syrup
Borsch and crescent moons
Plaid jumpers and pig tails
Tied with purple yarn
I am from the scent of oil pastels
Grandmother’s charcoal sketches
Minor and major scales of G
Sunday school and follow the rules
I am from frozen toes and toboggans
Snowflakes melting on eyelashes
Hot chocolate steaming
As the porch light flickered
I am from pioneer women of strength
Men who worked the land
Prairies of rippling amber
Gleaming against western skies
I am from the salt of tears
In wounds still open
The pieces that are left
When hearts stop beating
I am from all that I wish not to be
And everything I wish to be me
“Where are you from?” That is the poetic topic at dVerse this week.
mishunderstood 