I am from Beanie babies
from babbling and blasphemed Bedside Baptist.
I am from quizzical eyes biting a silent tongue
(icy, knowing the world will be unfolded,
Smoothed creaseless.)
I am from the ‘pink fluff tree’ whose arms held me
When I saw my childhood dog bereft of life
And the mossy stones bearing a rickety cross
That marked her being after.

I’m from up-heres and over-theres
Where a deer stand marked the fork in the road
From Soccer Dots’ trophies covered by pom-poms
To backwards plumes to mitigate nerves.
I am from a stork’s flight
Whose wings were propelled by exhales of ‘spitting image’.
From Christmas lights illuminating dynasty
Joy re-blazed again each year.

I am from ‘Banana Pancakes’ and Baker Koonce
From the backscratcher that tersely companioned my backside
leaving moral lessons lined in red.
I’m from 5-o-clock-somewheres
and Strawberry Wine.
I’m from ‘Dawgs, transitioning with idle hate
To the Alma Mater, speeding her praises onward.

A sprout shooting upward, I root myself in this world.
But still swaying in the wind,
Budding and blossoming,
I make my own place on the branch.