I Am From..

I am from dish soap,
from Ajax and soft hand towels.
I am from the road on which our tires drive.
(Never-ending, consistent
its worn no matter where.)
I am from the rough patches of city grass,
the forest whose bark devours reality
as if I were standing there once again.

I am from karaoke and blonde hair,
from Debbie and Jamie; and Kyle and Kody.
I am from the smart alecks
and the stubborn-headed,
from ask your dad and go to bed.
I am from Ephesians and the armour of God,
with prayers before bed
and a golden crucifix around my neck.

I am from Hiawatha and Smith’s branch,
chocolate pudding cake and sweet tea.
From the shattered mirror that scarred my mother’s hand
the house whose black mold rained down like the black plague.
I am from an album stored away in a family chest.
Faces morphed from the passage of time,
the memories yet to drift on through,
and whenever they’re needed they’re locked away,
calling me back to only yesterday.