I’m from a hidden corner in the library--
that I imagined was a cupboard under the stairs--
Where books were my shelter and my friends.
We sat together and blathered on about long-lost legends
Late into the night.
I’m from old needle pricked calluses on my fingertips,
Left by my patchwork quilt sewn with daydreams.
Then the good luck flower kisses to the petunias.
From Papa’s old fish smoking jars
And the fluorescent pink of cured salmon eggs.
I’m from silver embossed Scripture
And the lines of 1 Timothy 4:12.
From the East to the West,
When the light catches on my ring,
I know.
I’ll never walk alone.
I’m from a Nancy Drew mystery book
I’m a Little Woman and an
Austenite who dreamed
Of clashing swords at Helm’s Deep
And of a castle filled with ghosts, monsters, and
Just a little bit of magic.
I’m from fishing rods and Ruger guns
And old shell casings laced in
Dirt,
Adrenaline,
And the faint and sometimes foul smell of
Moss and dirty hair tangled with twigs.
I’m from the stains on my worn duct tape crocs
And the holes where my toes stick through.
I should have retired them years ago but
They still have so much to say!
I’m from my momma’s macaroni,
And moose ribs just waiting in the crockpot
For us to get home. And then its back to
The caribou antler graveyard where
I got my darling Yamaha Ovation a trifle stuck,
Again.
I’m from wherever my Lord wants me
But I will never cease to remember
Frosty eyelashes
The smell of wood smoke
And the rev of engines floating
In
The
Air.
that I imagined was a cupboard under the stairs--
Where books were my shelter and my friends.
We sat together and blathered on about long-lost legends
Late into the night.
I’m from old needle pricked calluses on my fingertips,
Left by my patchwork quilt sewn with daydreams.
Then the good luck flower kisses to the petunias.
From Papa’s old fish smoking jars
And the fluorescent pink of cured salmon eggs.
I’m from silver embossed Scripture
And the lines of 1 Timothy 4:12.
From the East to the West,
When the light catches on my ring,
I know.
I’ll never walk alone.
I’m from a Nancy Drew mystery book
I’m a Little Woman and an
Austenite who dreamed
Of clashing swords at Helm’s Deep
And of a castle filled with ghosts, monsters, and
Just a little bit of magic.
I’m from fishing rods and Ruger guns
And old shell casings laced in
Dirt,
Adrenaline,
And the faint and sometimes foul smell of
Moss and dirty hair tangled with twigs.
I’m from the stains on my worn duct tape crocs
And the holes where my toes stick through.
I should have retired them years ago but
They still have so much to say!
I’m from my momma’s macaroni,
And moose ribs just waiting in the crockpot
For us to get home. And then its back to
The caribou antler graveyard where
I got my darling Yamaha Ovation a trifle stuck,
Again.
I’m from wherever my Lord wants me
But I will never cease to remember
Frosty eyelashes
The smell of wood smoke
And the rev of engines floating
In
The
Air.