I am from...

Came across renditions of this poem on a few blogs recently. Both Red Current and Pea Soup have superb examples IMHO. Each version left me in a state of quiet awe and gave me further insight into their respective worlds. I love that! So, having been completely inspired by these wonderfully creative women, I figured I'd give the exercise a go. My version follows.

I am from...

I am from popsicle sticks and paste, from the fin of the mermaid who swims abreast the Chicken of the Sea and from the test kitchen of Chef Boyardee.

I am from walls swathed in dark chocolate, trimmed in whisper white, where birds greet the day in a chorus of beeps, tweets and squawks, wrapped in a quilted harvest of golden paisley, red and blue.

I am from the withering orchid upon the windowsill, the moss covered stone.

I am from turkeys stuffed with pumpkins and wild mushrooms and from quick wit, dry humor and quiet desperation, from Richard Henry and Suzanne Victoria, from Mr. and Mrs. Newhall.

I am from the unbridled suffering of a king and the uncensored survival of his queen.

From six to one, half a dozen or the other and I am not your friend, I am your father.

I am from the devout catholic and the secular humanist.

I'm from El Valle de San Fernando and the mythos of Transylvania, oil-sodden potato chips and cremated macaroni and cheese.

From the sister who tumbled down the hill, parents whose eyes rolled in disbelief at the young girl’s tale and a grandfather who paid quiet witness to the folderal, silence belies guilt by association.

I am from walls adorned with cherubic cheeks and curly mahogany locks, myriad landscapes, travels of yesteryear, and ancestors making memories, all at the ready to spring from their wooden confines begging to be unearthed, relived and experienced anew.