Where I Am From
I am from the electric blanket,
from the Hostess and lemon-ginger tea.
I am from steep staircases.
(Splintered, warped, salt-dusted grey.)
I am from the blazing maple tree,
the browning pine,
both leaving their discards
crunching underneath my feet.
I am from Christmas and hilarious,
from Burke and Pollock and McFeat.
I am from the belting of Happy Birthday
and lingering around a round table.
I am from kindness and caring.
Sending both out in hopes to ease
and be eased.
I am from Viking ships and windy hills,
swirl cookies and spice bars.
From the flat tire dad had and
how he was sure he had missed my arrival.
And the dance he had whenever I came home.
I am from the brown and gold album
with the pages too full and sliding out,
the images and memories fitting perfectly-
though not always neatly- in my heart.