I am from a family dinner time, from Kraft Macaroni and Cheese,
and from tea towels as napkins.
I am from the big, brick house in town...old, lived in, and cozy,
with a front porch swing.
I am from the yellow and orange Marigolds and purple and white Pansie flower beds,
the weathered and worn, wooden privacy fence,
the dusty, gravel driveway.
I am from too-crowded Thanksgiving tables, and big eaters,
from Viola Katherine and Blanche Faye
I am from a quiet, listener-observer,
and sappy, emotional women.
From the Blizzard of 1978,
and the rescuing arms of a big brother.
I am from Safe Christianity.
Old, wooden pews, hymns of piano and organ,
Christmas Pageants, and Easter Lillies.
I'm from small-town Goshen, Ohio.
From Big-City Cincinnati,
Skyline Chili and Buddy LaRosa's Pizza.
From the Grandpa with no shoes, a cold bed, and lumpy oatmeal,
the father who had a pony and a pool and chocolate cake for breakfast,
and the mother who held a latch-key and her Daddy's Heart.
I am from cardboard boxes of family photos, not yet stuck in albums.
Thirty-two years, frozen in time,
by 35 mm film.