I am from fading skies,
the echo of days well spent and tomorrows
well anticipated
I am from the golden grass
pecking at the heels of our tanned bare feet
while blackberry thorns pester our cracked heels
I am from sweet lemonade and limp ham
sandwiches
Curious wasps that nip at our sticky fingers
I am from the inevitable gray
of the thunderstorms that infect this region
With its raindrops sounding like a thousand tiny tap dancers skipping across the play structure
I am from the angry song of pickup truck engines paired with the putrid scent of gasoline
Juxtaposing the sense we get that this place
is our planet.
I am from lady ferns and fragrant soil,
dirt-caked nails and knotted hair
From bright red rain jackets and diet cola
Summer stars and untouched air
I am from golden puddles that splatter across emerald grass,
the legacy of saturated sun
Wildflowers that waltz with the lethargic rhythms of wind
All the way back where I’m from