Where I'm From

I am from charred wood and Pine-Sol,
From the smell of beef stew cooking on the stove
And the sound of football announcers on the t.v.

I am from oak trees and tire swings
And a conifer I planted myself on the back patio.
From a tiny house just big enough for love
And a Barbie Convertible and numerous changes of clothes.

I am from Charles and Rosemary and
The Kelly family from Ireland.
From “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right.”
And “The only thing boring about it is you.”

I am from Irish eyes and cousins picked up at the airport,
From endless summer days in the tomato patch
And nights chasing fireflies and jumping fish in the Bay.

I am from a culture of writers and storytellers
And stories about the one that got away.
From working hard first and then relaxing
With a good book or a good drink.

I am from a giant garbage bag full of photos
Sepia-toned and aging in my mother’s attic.
Some long-forgotten people and memories they made.
The moments of my history unknown,
That I am now condemned or convinced to repeat.