April 25, 1967

I am from plaid couches, from Town Club pop and meatloaf for dinner.
I am from the corner house, plain, white and humble.
I am from the giant cherry tree, the bush in the front and the long bumpy sidewalk.
I am from a mouse at Christmas and she looks just like Eleanor; from Trent and Ger’stein; from Meszaros and Mezigian.
I am from the pursuit of holiness ; too serious and laughing until you cry.
From you have to suffer for beauty and close the vin-door.
I am from redeemed and the Old Testament and Amazing Grace.
I’m from Ft. Hood, Texas, Hungary, Armenia, Germany and West Virginia coal mines, rice pilaf and stuffed cabbage.
From the sugar beet too big for her little hands, the encyclopedia read in the outhouse, the cat that Grand-dad shot and the Saturday shopping trips.
I am from the farm and the suburbs. I am from poverty and wealth. I am from shish-kebob in July and family prayer and bunkbeds. I am from babies well-loved and no boundaries. I am from fire trucks and pots of soup and nurturing and discipline. I am from genocide and survival. I am from trying to do better. I am from purple Schwinns with banana seats. I am from swimming pools and Daisy May Sunshine Trent. I am from California and Michigan and West Virginia. I am from knowing who I am. I am from I will meet you in the morning just inside the Eastern Gate.