Where I'm From

I am from holy jolly chicken pot pie and Sabbath candles lit maybe twice a year, from Bubby and Grandpa and the Louis clan. I am from video tapped plays in Mammaw’s living room with paper bullets.

I’m from valleys and trees, fiddles on roofs, and all the places in-between, from Mammaw’s soup and Mom’s “peanut butter sandwich” and the rough-blurry-vase-of-flowers painting she hung over the couch. From car rides and working lunches I wish would never end.

From running up the stairs to watch my dad’s car drive away every morning to watching him tear up when I told him so, tackling my sister in the middle of the mall, and holding Oscar with dad as the vet put him down.

I am from the wild chives my sister and I would hunt for, the rusted grill plate sitting in the hornet-infested tree house she got for her birthday, the black- and rasp-berries, apples, and pears we used to have time to pick, the dogwood wrapped in a chokehold,  from the ash trees I’m convinced can hear me if I talk to them, the pine trees I don’t notice until they spill snow on my head, and the bent-over tree that kept growing until I had to duck.

I am from the circus in the middle of the parking lot, and harmonizing in the car (but never on long car rides, only short).

From “brush your teeth”, “do you have homework?”, “always make an extra”, and “don’t put chopsticks in the dishwasher!”

I’m from the stained glass prophet’s stories on the synagogue walls, from the hours of Hebrew and party dresses.

I am from Percy Jackson, the Seven Realms, and evil John Green’s books, from Redenbacher’s movie theatre butter popcorn with parmesan cheese and wingback chairs. I am from Doctor Who and Sherlock and fandoms and tumblr, from fan fiction that ends happily for once.

I am from black pants with deep pockets, too many staples, headsets, and Crayola colored paint. I am from false eyelashes, safety pins, hot costumes on a small stage, and horrible loading days.

I am from the stack of outdated photo albums in the chest the TV sits on in the middle of the living room, standing still and gathering dust as we wiz to and fro, from school, from theatre, from synagogue, from home.

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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