Where I’m From
I started on a hill, swinging,
not climbing,
on a Whipple tree.
The storm, the melancholy, came
to water our land.
Soon-to-be ketchup
brought me by sea
and eventually sweating in
lines and blue ovals brought me
by paved roads.
As soon as we could fly I flew,
but not before toast and coffee.
With Mr. Bean shaving his tongue and
Lucy stuffing her face
with chocolates,
that generational laugh
I hope will be the last sound I hear
as I fade back into
that farmland north of London.
And since I have time
as of now,
that laugh…
It wasn’t because the day
was done well
or her loved ones treated her
with love and kindness.
It’s because it wasn’t so,
that with Vernor floats I could watch
courage unfold.