I am from books,
From DVDs and TV screens.

I am from the red, brick house.

Warm, inviting,

Smelling of candles.

I am from the tall, pine trees,

The wooden swing set

That creaks and groans.

 

I’m from loud Thanksgivings

And sleepless Christmas Eves,

From Glenn and Jacob.

I’m from Amazing Grace

And raising hands.

From “put the book away”

To “you’re turning into your dad.”

I’m from Pentecostalism,

Where we raise our hands and voices.

 

I’m from North Carolina and Virginia,

Chicken pastry and Arty and Tony’s.

From the loss of my great-uncle’s legs,

And the near death of my Grandpa and Nana.

 

I’m from book characters

And pastor’s preaching.

I’m from singing Hallelujah

And the front row pew.

But most of all,

I’m from myself.