Where I Come From…
…Is Not Where I Am
Where I learned what the world was about
Bare feet floated over fields of flowering clover
Childish hearts rose high in the summer sky
Laying wide-faced among amber waves of grain
Swaying lazily as far as minds could see
Growing into the shimmering Midwestern sun
Where grandma lives just down the road
Aunts, uncles, Macintosh trees and honey bees
Young limbs climbing, running jumping tirelessly
Till nighttime cradles you in her cool, fulsome arms
And the scent of fresh-cut grass lulls you to sleep
Pabst and Friday night fish fries, laughter from the bar
Sizzling bratwurst drooling onto the charcoal grill
Pickled herring in sour cream moistening saltines
Glistening kringles in a dozen buttery flavors
Gastronomic signals of our Scandinavian heritage
Race simply didn’t exist — we were all lily white
All good straight Christians, mostly protestant and
Rape didn’t happen because sex wasn’t a subject
Everybody got along great, ja ja boys were boys
Women knew to keep the place neat and
Nobody said a thing
A response to the “Where I am From” prompt — thanks, Terijo!
