IMOGENE’S NOTEBOOK

I Am From High Hopes and Impossible Dreams

A poem

The homestead at the lake, image by author

I am from
the central plains
and the eastern lakes,
a rustic cabin on the lake
made of logs and sweat,
with sharpened axes
and wood stacked high

for the winter.

I am from
the weak hearts
and strong arms of men,
with the smell of liquor
on their breath,
and a treasure of beer caps
collected in a can on the wall.

I am from
the hand-me-downs
and almost-fits-you,
the illness of my mother,
and the comfort
of my grandmother,
always near, even now.

I am from
poor choices
and low expectations,
high hopes and impossible dreams.

I am from
the quickening in my veins
and the defiance of my sobriety.