I am from a wooden guitar.
I am from a C.S. Martin and I adore it.
I am from the beat and battered home of pain.
I am from soil, the sweet belly flowers of spring.
I am from music and destruction.
From a mother and only a mother.
I am from an accusations and success.
From respect being earned and low tolerance of tears.
I am from mockery of the father, son, and the Holy Spirit.
I am from the desert lands as dry as my lips for years.
As filling as cotton candy, as desirable as cous cous.
From a mother of mercy and unacknowledged love.
An eldest sister and the scraping of her cancerous cervix.
Sunny beaches, grey, rain filled clouds.
Commitment Ceremonies and baby showers.
A bitter sweet love of an untypically typical family…The crucial irony.