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I Am From

I am from eighteen bottles of curly hair products
Within the thousand door funhouse
Playing games with my mind
Like ideas brushing the edge of your thoughts

I am from mountainous piles of fuzzy blankets
Cushioning my land from launching pad matresses
And from rattling dryers playing their symphoney at night
To keep the dreams and away, tugging sleep in tow

I am from love worn stuffed animals
Bunny and Cuddles, comforts on cold nights
And from fuzzy pink rags
Memories from my baby days

I am from card games late at night
Set on winning once before the sun shows her face
And from I-Pod trivia on cold car rides home
Turning into our version of amercan idol

I am from blasting music
Changing with whoevers in the room
Infused with off key singing
Always echoing off the walls in every direction

I am from "The Rabbit" escaping to his lair
With objects never to be seen again
And the moans of Petrie when woken
Foloowed by a wirlwind of energy
Just begging to play

I am from chalk-covered driveways
split tree swings and rusted bikes
From old mud covered tractors
To the dead grass spots and rotted wood

I am from confusing mazes of car parts
Tripping you in the most unexpected places
From The Star, The Cracked Thing, and The Twister
Oil covered and passed from hand to hand, each day

I am from overgrown grass
Filled with buggy experiments waiting to be found
Slippery grease spots always slipped on, day after day
And grassy weeds grabbing at your feet like imps from Hell
Dragging you down

I am from rippling seas of weat filled hills
Rising and breaking like the waves of the sea
Farm stands and animals
Like buoys floating around in emptiness

I am from century old houses
Rising like sunken ships
From the bottom of the seaman's locker
Out of the pulling clutches of her green sea

I am from 200 year old gravestones
Beside me, listening to the whispers of the wind
From the lovely lake Ripple
And all her undiscovered depths

I am from ancient oaks and maples
Dogwoods and apple trees
Calling for you to climb and sleep
Enclosed in their barky embraces

I am from bike paths along the Blackstone
Reflecting like fire in the fall
The misty tail on a commet across the night sky
Falling to earth, with only memories remaining

I am from "How many more?"
Waiting for our apartment to be done
And "Will we ever be normal?"
Uttered at the end of every conversation

I am from "Do it the first time!"
We only ever have one chance at life
And shouts of "No, little Bugger!"
A phrase we hear daily

I am from chicken mush
And hollandaise sauce
Homade orange jelly
And peanut butter honey and banana sandwiches

I am from written words
On paper and skin alike
And pictures, drawn and snappede
Tapped to walls

Ia, from scrapbooks
And old memories hiding under chairs
From boxes of cards, each containing a memory
And my journal marked "Eternal", forever

I am from World War 2 survivors
Bomb squad generals and front line soldiiers
From nurses on the fields of battle
Now grandfathers and mothers, telling stories by the fire

I am from Peace Corp. operators
And soldiers in Afghanistan
From Irish farmers to settlers in Florida
Founders of over half of Pomona

I am from Christines and Arthurs
Special Ed. teacher and Farmer
From Bob and Adam
Friend and Father

I am from Native leaders
And Columbus travelers
Names long forgotten in the past
But always remembered through red hair and green eyes

But most of all I am from a loving family
With many problems as with everyone
And from times spent together
Making our home, into somthing more




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