Where I'm From

I am from dead plants,

from sorrows,

pictures of the dead,

and long lost faces.

I am from the thick bark covering the tree

that makes avocados as dark

as the dying cactus by the shed.

I am from rotten fruit that piles up in the yard.

I’m from mirrors that look deep into your soul

and pale peeled paint.

From singing at the tick of midnight

and nights like fire.

From Nancy and David.

I’m from Cowboy and Traveler,

from “What’s cookin’.”

and from “London bridge is falling down”

and crashing to my knees.

I’m from the blood that dripped

from my mother’s finger onto the knife.

From the Iwo Jima black sand

and the spicy smell that floats from the pumpkin pies.

I’m from the sewing chair

filled with secrets and stories,

from which I cherish and hide.

I am from those moments-

sliding down into the cool Skaneateles Lake water towards my family and friends.

-Apple