Where I’m From

I am from a shovel full of soil.

From the worn handle of the pitchfork

And the lurching advance of the hay wagon.

I am from gentle nurturing and sweaty stubbornness.

I am from enduring apple orchards.

(They slept, hidden beside farm fields

and wrapped in brambles.

Uncovered once more, they beckon

Butterflies and bees and me.)

I am from rolling green hills where mantises pray

And calves surreptitiously slipped into the world.

Apple pie and grilled cheese with tomato soup.

I am bursting from a screen door on a summer day

Across a lawn full of dandelions and clover.

I’m from, “it’s time to do the chores.”

I’m from Country Roads.

Even here, there is still dirt under my nails

And untameable roots.

Apple saplings sprout unintentionally

In every neglected flowerpot.

When through the woods and forest glades I wander

And hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees,

Then sings my soul.

(I found the prompt for this fill-in-the-blank where-I’m-from poem on rarasaur’s blog. I did not expect to end up liking the results scribbled in my journal!)

~rainbow mondays~

a splash of color on monday morning

a photo study documenting the colors of the spectrum: the balance points between light reflected and light absorbed