Thanks again to Blogging in Paris

Where I'm from
an exercise in identity

I am from yellow tins,
from Twinnings and loose leaf earl grey.
I am from the small space with the big view.
Colourful, warm, serenaded by the bus.
I am from the mayflower tree, the lilac bush,
the scent that lingers and delights.
I am from soaking stamps and blue eyes,
from Gordon and Gordon and Gordon.
I am from the let's try its and the don't make them waits,
from never hurt your mother
and open and close that door twenty times now.
From I love you and you're just apologizing
so you'll get what you want.
I am from the voices in the ceiling.
The energy in the plants and the unknowing.

I'm from the prairies and the highlands,
tomato aspic and coeur a la crème.
From the lonely alcoholic who found her oven mitts on fire
and only a 5 year old granddaughter to put them out,
the patriarch who refused to sell his integrity,
from the daughter killed in a car crash at 20, discovered
by the very doctor who killed her own aunt.

I am from the national archives,
the glass slides the size of small books,
the computer files my father keeps,
the old black leather books
and bibles filled with notes and photos
and the plastic sleeves filled
with a silly cake with blood red carpet
and pastel dresses.

Won't you try it too?


Also, see here for a most fascinating post where the ocean swallows something up and then spits it back out. (I would spit that out too!)