Where I’m From

I am from prairie mountains,
From sandy rolling hills,
I am from gusty winds.
Grainy, whooshing through the monstrous maples.
I am from the flowers.
the blooming rose
whose stems prick
as I sniff their sweet perfume.

I’m from s’mores and campfires,
From smoke-ridden attire and charred mallows.
I’m from the water.
Slapping gently against my sunburned back.
from cool aloe vera and greasy sunscreen.
I’m from the beach.
Made of nothing but mud
Shaped to the liking of the rest of the world.

I’m from Sunday church,
From eye-closing sermons and chattering children.
I’m from small-town gossip,
From the womb of a community of mothers.
the secret my past failed to keep.

In my heart beats a drum
Playing rhythms from then,
A song of an embracing past.
With lyrics of memories from so long ago
Lingering fresh in my mind;
This is who I am—
A crimson fall leaf—
Drifting on the winds through the land.

Whitney Dickerson