Where I'm From

I am from wooden spoons,
from Pyrex and liquid dish soap.
I am from the wood behind the stone house,
(Thick, beckoning,
it felt like security.)
I am from the Asian jasmine
and the berry briars
whose spines are strong
as is mine.
I'm from oatmeal and ceiling fans,
from Don and Dawn.
I'm from the stupid-idiots
and the tattle-tales,
from Sober up! and 'first, middle, last'!
I'm from holding hands at the table
with heads bowed
and one eye open just in case.
I'm from Sioux Falls and Willow Springs,
muddy creeks and Styrofoam cups.
From the lazy eye my mother has
when she gets upset,
the hand behind the shadow puppets dad used
to make me laugh.
Under my mattress or a loose floorboard,
leaning flat-faced into the earth.
They stay lost in a moment smiling at themselves---
comfortable,
safe,
warm,
and clean.

Author's Note

This poem in it's original format is by George Ella Lyon. Writing my own version of it was an assignment for my English III class. Written two years ago.