Another Poem About Roots

I am from Beanie babies

from babbling and blasphemed Bedside Baptist.

I am from quizzical eyes biting a silent tongue

(icy, knowing the world will be unfolded,

Smoothed creaseless.)

I am from the ‘pink fluff tree’ whose arms held me

When I saw my childhood dog bereft of life

And the mossy stones bearing a rickety cross

That marked her being after.

I’m from up-heres and over-theres

Where a deer stand marked the fork in the road

From Soccer Dots’ trophies covered by pom-poms

To backwards plumes to mitigate nerves.

I am from a stork’s flight

Whose wings were propelled by exhales of ‘spitting image’.

From Christmas lights illuminating dynasty

Joy re-blazed again each year.

I am from ‘Banana Pancakes’ and Baker Koonce

From the backscratcher that tersely companioned my backside

leaving moral lessons lined in red.

I’m from 5-o-clock-somewheres

and Strawberry Wine.

I’m from ‘Dawgs, transitioning with idle hate

To the Alma Mater, speeding her praises onward.

A sprout shooting upward, I root myself in this world.

But still swaying in the wind,

Budding and blossoming,

I make my own place on the branch.