Where I'm From
I am from picturesque skies and sea mists,
The Land of the Golden Apple.
Days wasted at the confection store and grocery,
with rats as large as cats,
the stairs on the outside of the two-story,
tanning in the sun until pain brings tears to the eyes,
arriving home to fresh, juicy watermelon and pita,
and singing television commercials in Brazilian at school.
I am from cheerleader practices and football games in the south,
and the Pilgrim’s ranch,
drinking iced tea in the moonlight’s suspicious shadow,
sweetness lingering on the tongue,
with periwinkle hydrangeas edging the overgrown walkway.
Attending Elvis concerts, crying when death swallowed him whole.
I am from reckless laughter at the Princess’s wedding.
Dorm room doors ajar,
glimpsing the wise professor reading like clockwork everyday.
From motorcycle crashes,
breaths and beats almost lost.
Cycling through the countryside,
humming Bob Marley tunes.
I am from weekends of dust,
a drifting mix of country, pop, and punk.
Beagle barks in the pastel sunrise and strolls through the oaks.
From memorized mazurkas to Harry Potter marathons.
Calls of Watch your hygiene!
Strands of chlorinated hair and sculling in the waves,
and squirts of water between the developers.
Inside jokes with friends, delighted with pointless pranks.
I am from a place on this Earth,
this is where I call home,
as does over six billion other humans,
all with a past history, secrets left untouched, stories locked up inside.
I am one of them,
they are one with me.
But one day we will all depart this world,
our lives to be recounted to our descendents.
Where I’m from will always be remembered,
and, hopefully, so will I.
The Land of the Golden Apple.
Days wasted at the confection store and grocery,
with rats as large as cats,
the stairs on the outside of the two-story,
tanning in the sun until pain brings tears to the eyes,
arriving home to fresh, juicy watermelon and pita,
and singing television commercials in Brazilian at school.
I am from cheerleader practices and football games in the south,
and the Pilgrim’s ranch,
drinking iced tea in the moonlight’s suspicious shadow,
sweetness lingering on the tongue,
with periwinkle hydrangeas edging the overgrown walkway.
Attending Elvis concerts, crying when death swallowed him whole.
I am from reckless laughter at the Princess’s wedding.
Dorm room doors ajar,
glimpsing the wise professor reading like clockwork everyday.
From motorcycle crashes,
breaths and beats almost lost.
Cycling through the countryside,
humming Bob Marley tunes.
I am from weekends of dust,
a drifting mix of country, pop, and punk.
Beagle barks in the pastel sunrise and strolls through the oaks.
From memorized mazurkas to Harry Potter marathons.
Calls of Watch your hygiene!
Strands of chlorinated hair and sculling in the waves,
and squirts of water between the developers.
Inside jokes with friends, delighted with pointless pranks.
I am from a place on this Earth,
this is where I call home,
as does over six billion other humans,
all with a past history, secrets left untouched, stories locked up inside.
I am one of them,
they are one with me.
But one day we will all depart this world,
our lives to be recounted to our descendents.
Where I’m from will always be remembered,
and, hopefully, so will I.