My good friend Haley sent me a message explaining one of her online assignments which was to write a poem as a means of introducing yourself: "Where I'm From." She sent me her first draft and I cried at how beautiful it was! She invited me to do the same.
- WHERE I'M FROM -
I am from fields of wheat,
gravel drive ways,
an acre of dust-filled air.
I am from a routine evening prayer,
staring out the second floor window;
sliding down stairs with siblings in slick sleeping bags,
I am curiosity and adventure, beware.
I am from farm animals,
the rooster crows every morning,
the dog barks stranger's warning.
I am from pigs as friends,
llamas as enemies,
chickens as pals;
spending time in the place they nest
was a sacred place, at best.
I am from anxiety, not much rest:
the yellers,
the hurt,
the crying,
the angry,
the beloved hand-me-downs.
A heart shared blankly
and frankly, I am from the dirt.
Dirty faces and fingers,
while the smell of beer lingers,
I am from tactics of manipulation.
I am from a small town with little population
full of people that differ in reputations.
People with money,
many without,
mostly just trying to make it through the drought
of the soul.
I am from swimming pools made of troughs,
old rickety swing sets made of wood,
miles spread out as the "neighborhood,"
a reliable & safe willow tree forever stood.
I am from angry holidays, where peace and joy feel no where near my soul.
I am from forts of tall itchy grass,
bebe guns for helpless Swallows,
sprinklers springing smiles on a hot sunny day.
I am from "school" in a friend's garage,
pulling daddy's long legs off and chasing barefoot boys around the grassy yard,
learning with Spelling Books, always a competition; yearning to win Mrs. Hinkle's positive attention,
pencils tucked behind our ears, desks unknowingly mismatched,
to 16 others I was very attached;
those were the parts of each day that moved by too fast.
Where I'm from, texts are in books and a Cassette Walkman is as technological as I could dream.
I am from rules and guidelines, scrawled lists of chores, do's & donts are black and white, defined by the belt.
I am from red wagons and pink cowgirl boots
a place of unknown destitute,
freedom through adventure was my unending pursuit.
I am from leafy gardens bloooming,
big sky, bursting stars, bright moon,
laughing, sleepless nights spent beneath it all,
us siblings singing a nursery tune.
I am from a small apple orchard,
trapped by a white splintery fence,
pig pens, dog dens, a house for hens,
a place of distinct scents.
I am from bare-foot days,
tough souls, running every which way.
Bike rides down the long narrow farm roads,
stumbling upon empty & abandoned homes,
where games like playing-house begins to flow.
I am from arguments and dark anger,
where hidden brokenness is the anchor;
hammered hardened hearts and pounding loud shouts,
building all sorts of fears and doubts,
confused and frightened,
but Jesus never left me throughout.
However. Truer than all of this, I am from His heart,
where redemption reigns.
I am from His mind of creativity
released from captivity to run into true freedom.
I am from the mighty hand, His palm
sounding my victory gong.
I am from beauty surrounding
His love always abounding.
You will find me resting in the song He has sung,
That,
that is where I am from.
