I am from glass figures,

books on cd and mounted deear heads.

I am from the creek behind the barn.

(it was clear and slow moving, smelling like dirt)

I am from the tree towering he backyard, one limb,

stretched out,

holding up the weight of others.

I'm from supper grace and rough hands,

from Daniel and Bill.

I'm from shaky hands and bitten nails.

I am from the strugglers and the strong willed.

From the hold still! and dress nice!

I am from Salt Lick and the little lake,

Black morning coffee and fried cornbread.

I am from fast packing and lost objects,

The fading place in the rearview mirror.

From the torn photos and the savored letters.

Teary eyes nowing you'll hear the same words from months passed.