I am from thunderstorms in the night, and bird sounds in the morning.
I am from “no you can’t” and “you should”.
I am from a prison of lies and ignorance,
Freed by the beauty of nature and the kindness of others,
By the sounds of cicadas, by the smells of ragweed and cows.
Blue-sky country roads and wheels spinning in the yellow sun.
Red tractors, cornfields, fried chicken, and banjos—that’s where I’m from.
Pudgy, little girl, black-long curls bobbing, pink cheeks of shame.
I am from mymother’s polyester personality, from her prison of pain,
her smoke-filled brain.
I am from my father’s coveralls tending the strawberry patch,
And his rose garden of pastel love;
I am from then. I from now.
I am from nothing and everything