Where I'm From

I’m from the farm with a buckeye tree.

From three-wheelers and snowmobiles,

And countless hours of a youth spent outdoors.

I’m from the sliding pocket doors.

From the sloped ceilings.

And the largest but creepiest closet.

I’m from the round, oak kitchen table.

From the slippery, country blue painted stairs,

And the big back porch to the pool.

I’m from rides with grandma and grandpa.

From Koffee Kup chocolate milk,

And lazy days splashing in the water at Cobb’s Fork.

I’m from social status and dirt poor.

From Lincoln and Franklin,

And Steve and Helen. Jack and Dorothy. Carlos and Mary.

I’m from all of these and more.

From who they want me to be,

And most of all, from betrayal.