I Am From

I AM FROM …

I am from old fickle vehicles,
From good intentions and boxed cereal,
I am from the high mountains of Arizona,
Small bedrooms and remodeled sawdust,
I am from the small dirt roads,
Divided by large gray boulders that wore holes in our backsides,
I am from the smell of warm needles from pines
Whose long gone limbs I remember as if they were my own.

I am from snowy Christmas holidays,
And sleeping relatives on the floor,
From frozen water and septic pipes,
And my dad reminding brave visitors that the shovel and tissue are propped by the front door.
I’m from endless card games and a two-channeled television
And from 150 assorted cheap cookies in a bag.

I am from instant milk and “steaks are for adults,”
And children’s bedtimes that are actually for parents who need time alone, together.
I am from long flannel nightgowns and big roaring fires,
I am from the lofty Hualapai Mountains,
The native land of the Tall Pine People, high in the Arizona air,
From endless summers of finding secret caves and tiger-striped kittens born in insulation boxes, of scraped knees and Bactine,
Of sleeping outside, long hikes of exploration, and dogs and cats following along,
And faith from the parents who always knew we’d come back tired.

by Shannon Henry