I am from handmade red canoes,
from farm land and a white well.
I am from broken bones and bleeding hearts, and crumbling floors and whispering walls.
I am from a pear tree
whose bosom gave sanctuary to wasps.
I am from rusted trucks and rotted ropes, from Barrett and McGee,
and from drunken slurs and broken promises, from choking on lungfuls of cigarette smoke
I am from ‘love thy neighbor, unless thy neighbor is different’, from cornbread and hatred, from smuggling moonshine and from selling secrets
Chasing snakes through fields of golden wheat.
I am from the moments where everything is perfect outside of closed doors.
I am from learning to listen to the walls, and learning to whisper back..