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Where I’m From

I am from pictures colored in a notebook,
books and a flashlight under the sheets,
from milk and carefully split Oreos and
tents made from blankets under the dining room table.

I am from the “west side”,
dinners in the screened-in porch,
root beer floats at the A&W drive in
and the summer rain pounding on dusty streets.
I am from the lilac bushes on the alley,
helicopter seeds spinning dizzily from the sky.

I am from Mulvahills and Vicinis and Ewings and Rozattis,
from a world where anything was possible with
some ingenuity (and duct tape).
I am from the from the peacekeepers and worriers,
perfectionists and imaginations,
from bookworms and knobby knees.
From bread crusts will make your hair curly,
and put down the book and go outside,
and He’s got the whole world in his hands.

I am from Catholic schools, nuns in black habits, church choirs and altar girls
From white dresses for First Communion and Ave Maria
and being an angel in the Christmas pageant
with a tinsel covered halo on my head.

I’m from the Midwest, from flat “a’s” and
my daddy’s jarred antipasto and mom’s ravs,
from tenderloin sandwiches (ketchup, extra pickle) and
popcorn from the popcorn wagon (snuck into the Saturday matinee).
From the drive-in movies in pajamas in the back of the station wagon,
the dreaded pink handmade gingham dresses
and Irish-Italian jokes.

I am from fading photos in sticky albums,
of family reunions and school dances, and
from ancestral pictures in a dusty brown suitcase, names forgotten as the years pass.

I’m from the now, as well, from two worlds,
the Yankee and the Welsh, hello and bore da,
sloppy joes and bara brith,
the responsible mom and the dreaming writer.

I’m a journey not yet finished.

Mama’s Losin’ It

Today’s Writers’ Workshop prompt is based upon the poem “Where I’m From” by George Ella Lyon.

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