“I Am From” by Amanda Kenney

I am from acres,

from riding mowers, and grassy groves.

I am from the sawdust’s scent.

I am from the giant oak,

the lilac bush aside the house.

I am from rare Christmas trees

and fair skin,

from my parents––

from that unnamed.

I am from the loud laughter

and loud yelling.

From be yourself and

be quiet.

I am from Love the Lord,

don’t hold hands,

save face in the public eye.

I am from the East,

from broken families,

coffee in teacups and

spaghetti again.

From the child my mother gave up,

the histories told and untold,

and the quiet of the outside at night.

I am from lost photographs, a crooked shoe,

a rock to sit and think.

A heavy heart, a book to read,

paper and ink.

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