Where I’m From
By
Hannah Allen
I
am from sweet, homegrown peaches,
From
lemony Pine-Sol and sky blue Windex.
I
am from the crab sandbox filled with cream colored specks.
(Red,
guarded, it was my own secret fortress.)
I
am from the wild strawberry plant, the thorn bush,
Spiked
and pointy as it poked my curious fingertips
I’m
from the lopsided Christmas trees and maroon raspberry candies,
From
Lori and Mary Jane and Tomlinson.
I’m
from the fall apple picking and mini-family reunions on ‘Pizza Friday’.
From
‘Daddy is coming home soon…’ and
‘You’re
gonna’ get worms!’
I’m
from church on holidays,
If
we could get there on time.
I’m
from Highland Hospital and the Pane branch,
Grandma’s
soup and penny-fried hotdogs.
From
the ring I found in my Aunt’s white wedding cake,
The
scar on my mother’s left cheek where a chicken pock once resided,
And sharply angled photos, a thick layer of
dust on the box where they lay.
I
am from the candle, whose white wick is waiting to be lit.
Match
strikes box, a flame ignites.
Candle
flickers slowly in the midnight air.
It
burns brightly, like my ambitions and imagination,
Fueled
by nothing but oxygen.
Just
like me.
