stuckbetweenStations.

Roots in the South: A “Where I’m From” Poem

Trying to teach the children the value in finding their own voice. Poetry is the vehicle & we’re modeling each day in hopes of translating the tricky language that the genre involves. This is a “Where I’m From” poem I wrote for them this morning. Only two tears & minimal damage overall. Sharing so I don’t forget.

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Roots in the South:

I am from multiple addresses and a military family with roots in the south

From “home is where the army sends you” and “sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.”

I am from Painted Ridge, atop a hill, behind a highway, where sidewalks became worn thin from childhood bicycle rides til the streetlights came on and Mama called us home.

I am from blankets of blue bonnets

That enveloped the sides of highways from the tip of Texas to the Gulf

Screaming springtime at drivers too busy to notice nature’s great gift

I’m from Sunday Supper at Grannie and Papa Genes

Motown blessing the speakers, carrying the sound around our plates of pulled pork and mixing with the sounds of a family finally close enough to touch

I am from Charles and Cindy

From Jacksons and Solesbees

I’m from the family that made the Southern Accent sound intelligent

And the choral sound of slanted drawls and belly laughs.

Who gave me an appreciation for a room filled with those who share your blood,

And who taught me that nothing is promised.

From “you got to try to do better, Ashley Ree,”

And any excuse to be within the walls of Grannie and Papa Gene’s Southern-Fried Kitchen

I’m from my mama’s words: “Goodnight, I love you, I’ll see you in the morning”

And “This too shall pass.”

I am from October 22^nd, 2009

And the loss of a retired US Army Major and the fishing boat captain of Old Yeller.

My daddy.

Who I like to imagine

Is now fishing forever in an always-stocked lake

Happy and tan and bearded

Wrestling poles and catching catfish that carry a size much larger in the mind

Than on the stove.

Who used to always say “You’re just like me”

And mispronounce Spanish to the waiters at the Mexican Restaurant

And who laughed loud. Without apology. And often.

Who was who he was

And who taught me to be me.

I am from a family that I cherish

From a mother who has sacrificed much, asked nothing, and loved without end

And who teaches me even now as I teach others.

A sister who speaks my language

Who embodies strength, hope, and perseverance.

And inspires every life she touches.

I am from hearts that taught me to be about love.

I am from hands that have held me up for twenty eight years

Only letting go

One finger at a time,

But always

Connected.