Where I’m From
Abigail M. Woods
I am from dogwoods,
From tree swings and haybales.
I am from crisp green rolling hills
(Overgrown, full of life
It smelled like fresh morning dew.)
I am from the creek-side lawn chair,
The rushing waters
Whose rippling waves haunt my body
Deep in my dreams.
I am from four-wheeler tracks and route-66,
From massive oak trees and blackberry bushes.
I am from the take-it-or-leave-it’s
And the five-days-a-week’s,
From sun-up to sun-down.
I’m from a red-dirt diamond
With stark-white chalk
And three chances to make it mine.
I’m from Sonic Drive-In’s and Spook Light Road,
Sunday service and catfish dinners.
From the bed of a white F-150, filthy and smiling
Snow-cone victories
The bat my father kept from childhood.
In the catalogs under mom’s bed
Three 3 weatherproof containers
Each labeled with
A child’s name.
I’m from the homerun balls –
Indoctrinated in a younger generation –
Skills of a family tradition.
