Where I’m from…

I’m from the moon concrete surrounding my home,
from the blooming flowers where my mom grills out.
I’m from the arrows hanging from the walls and the dream catchers,
From the fallen over drums and the toys laying about.
I’m from the arbor with the overgrown “bad hair day” vine.
From the white dinner table when arguments start but end in “not so humorous” jokes.
I’m from the country house where tradition is shared,
from the steaming fourth to Christmas day,
I’m from the ornaments made by my sister when she was young
from the fireworks and the lake we gaze across.
I’m from the alley and the dark lanes
from the bar lined with booze and unsteady stools,
I’m from a bowling pin: shot off guard,
From “waitress this table, run to the freezer, and take out the trash,”
the drunken men cussing about last season’s games.
I’m from the ancient memories hiding under my bed,
from the photographs and vibrant birthday cards.