Where I’m From

I am from salt and pepper shakers,

from Dr. Pepper and Marlboro’s.

I am from the pear tree in Grandad’s yard.

(Broad, green,

Its limbs sturdy enough to hold me as I ate the luscious gritty fruit.)

I am from crepe myrtles

the bushes flowering with enough pale corals and bright magentas

to shade the cat on hot days.

I’m from Sunday Breakfast and military uniforms,

from Fay and Baldy.

I’m from the collectors of trinkets

and hard drinkers,

from “Just wait till your father gets home”

and “Well bless your heart!”

I’m from the Old Rugged Cross and reciting

the Lord’s Prayer at night in bed.

I’m from Fort Worth and the Arnolds,

venison chili and chicken n’ dumplings.

From the china hutch my Uncle Joe built

for my Granny when she stopped smoking (but really didn’t)

from the copperhead that almost bit my sister and cousin

but killed my dog.

In a cheap straw treasure chest nestled beside my fireplace,

are mementos and photos featuring my origins.

I am from those roots,

powerful yet yielding,

reminding me as I leave, of how far I’ve already come.