From
I am from the skeleton of coal mines
Soot and tobacco
And men who don’t say much
I am from venison stew
Knife handles carved from antlers
Hours spent with a single lamp
To get the waxy ridge of it just right
I am from the kindness of my mother
I am from her soft edges
(She pinched them and said they shouldn’t be
but I knew that they were ripples of love
and I could bury my fear there)
I am from her wandering and beauty
A signet ring
A navy pea coat
Seams raw from sleeves too short
I am from soccer nets and mud pies
Salt-water taffy and bamboo spears
Chlorine and kick-boards
The summer of Kerri Strug
When we wore our own silken blue ribbons
And dreams of medals
I am from brooding whole truths
That left room for nothing else
From mustard Berber, plastic chairs, and stale coffee
I am from the casting out of
“Idols and the devil and sex”
A wild spilling of syllables
That sent us into fear
And nothing else
I am from the leaving behind
I am from florescent lights
And needle pricks
Prongs and wires and the metallic clank
Of knowing
I am from plaster and foam mats and 2lb dumbbells
I am from Billie Holiday
And Carson McCullers
And Toni Morrison
And Patty Griffin
And William Faulkner
I am from sandpaper callouses
After hours spent with my father’s Washburn
I am from borrowed, untuned, ivory keys
And songs I tested against shower tile
And concrete stairwells
So my lungs could feel bigger than they were
I am from parking lot lunches
And mountain air
I am from the professor who taught me
That god is more than what White men
say you should know
I am from late bloomers
And old souls
I am from the pink of her mouth
Wine-laced and warm with vice
I am from wanting to not want her like I did
I am from the taking in
