IMOGENE’S NOTEBOOK
Where I’m From is Not a Place
A poem
I am from a long high shelf of books to be explored
from a dusty windowpane and a finger tracing on a dull day alone.
I am from an old red house in a new country
spirits hidden in shifting shadows and creaking floors
reeking of tobacco smoke
and rattling with the laughter
that keeps me safe.
I am from a rhubarb plant in the backyard
whose sour stems make the sweetest pie
and we remember her with every taste.
I am from a monogrammed tin money clip
(sentimental value only)
and a crest, with knife dripping blood
(reading I mak siccar)
from O’Fallons and Kirkpatricks and others
tillers of stony lands
no crowned heads here.
I am from humour and stubbornness
from curiosity and a wildness.
I am from a coffin ship, cast groaning into an angry sea
from a call to war, unwanted but answered.
I am from hard pews scented of incense and faith
from pancakes and sausages after mass.
I am from a boy, settled with restless mind on a quiet porch in summer
I am from the watching and the wanting.
I am from moments of warm nights and family, catching fireflies in jars
I am from learning that light captured is light extinguished
and that nothing can be held.
I am from this world, a man serious and stern, striding across oceans to save us all
And I am from a greater wisdom, laughing at that strutting child-self
but with kindness and forgiving
I must not forget to forgive.
I am from the light,
I leapt into this shadow world with joy
I am from you, my love, and you are from me.
Thanks to Debra G. Harman, MEd. for the prompt based on “Where I’m From” by George Ella Lyons.
