(composed July 29, 2009)
I am from tumbleweeds and saguaro cactus, from Push-up Pops and Pop-Rocks, Capri-sun and sliced oranges, their juices dripping down your forearms leaving wavy, sticky lines.
I am from arid, hot wind blowing your hair in too many directions at once and drying your sweat before it even leaks from your pores.
I am from the thirsty palm tree, the aloe vera plant, the coyote and the family of quail running across the road in front of your car.
I am from Labor Day cookouts on a hand-built fire-pit, and lanky red-heads, Grandma Dot and Aunt Mary Lou and Great-Grandma Gert.
I am from insomnia and passive-aggressive silence and leaving to Patagonia with all her stuff packed in the school bus.
From "The Man wants you to work so you can become a consumer and support his Corporate Machine." From “No Nukes” and “US Out of the Contra” and “Keep your laws off my body.”
I am from Mother Mary, full of Grace. From all God’s critters got a place in the choir. From George Fox and William Penn and “Love is like a magic penny.”
I'm from Stonyclove Farm, from the rolling hills of Ridgewood, NJ. From gooey enchiladas and spicy chiles rellenos and cheese souffle made my Grandma Dot, but "Shhh, don't be too loud or you'll make it fall."
From the girl who left home at 16 to hitchhike across the country with strangers.
From the could-have-climbed-the-corporate-ladder but instead became a onetime mountain-man.
From the Birkenstock-wearing PTA mom driving us to school in her dusty 20 year old beat-up Volkswagen van.
From driving across the border so mom can get a root canal because we don't have dental insurance.
From four kids, two parents and a giant shaggy dog driving from state to state in a white school bus.
From two-week long camping trips with no toilet, no shower, no other human beings for miles around. From seeing snow (in August!) on the top of a mountain.
From tofu and tabbouleh and cous-cous.
From being vegetarian when it wasn’t “cool” or “hip” or “Green.” From “But what do you EAT? Can you at least have hamburgers?”
I am from drinking miso-soup when you’re sick and swallowing bitter yellow goldenseal capsules to help heal a cold.
From "You don't need stitches, it's only a flesh wound."
I am from a big scar across his abdomen from the war that he did not like to talk about.
I am from dusty boxes of photos under the bed, from a wardrobe full of black and white photo albums, from a velvet-lined jewelry box with Grandma’s old costume jewelry which must be kept hidden in the attic, away from the prying eyes of children and would-be thieves.
I am from tumbleweeds and saguaro cactus, from Push-up Pops and Pop-Rocks, Capri-sun and sliced oranges, their juices dripping down your forearms leaving wavy, sticky lines.
I am from arid, hot wind blowing your hair in too many directions at once and drying your sweat before it even leaks from your pores.
I am from the thirsty palm tree, the aloe vera plant, the coyote and the family of quail running across the road in front of your car.
I am from Labor Day cookouts on a hand-built fire-pit, and lanky red-heads, Grandma Dot and Aunt Mary Lou and Great-Grandma Gert.
I am from insomnia and passive-aggressive silence and leaving to Patagonia with all her stuff packed in the school bus.
From "The Man wants you to work so you can become a consumer and support his Corporate Machine." From “No Nukes” and “US Out of the Contra” and “Keep your laws off my body.”
I am from Mother Mary, full of Grace. From all God’s critters got a place in the choir. From George Fox and William Penn and “Love is like a magic penny.”
I'm from Stonyclove Farm, from the rolling hills of Ridgewood, NJ. From gooey enchiladas and spicy chiles rellenos and cheese souffle made my Grandma Dot, but "Shhh, don't be too loud or you'll make it fall."
From the girl who left home at 16 to hitchhike across the country with strangers.
From the could-have-climbed-the-corporate-ladder but instead became a onetime mountain-man.
From the Birkenstock-wearing PTA mom driving us to school in her dusty 20 year old beat-up Volkswagen van.
From driving across the border so mom can get a root canal because we don't have dental insurance.
From four kids, two parents and a giant shaggy dog driving from state to state in a white school bus.
From two-week long camping trips with no toilet, no shower, no other human beings for miles around. From seeing snow (in August!) on the top of a mountain.
From tofu and tabbouleh and cous-cous.
From being vegetarian when it wasn’t “cool” or “hip” or “Green.” From “But what do you EAT? Can you at least have hamburgers?”
I am from drinking miso-soup when you’re sick and swallowing bitter yellow goldenseal capsules to help heal a cold.
From "You don't need stitches, it's only a flesh wound."
I am from a big scar across his abdomen from the war that he did not like to talk about.
I am from dusty boxes of photos under the bed, from a wardrobe full of black and white photo albums, from a velvet-lined jewelry box with Grandma’s old costume jewelry which must be kept hidden in the attic, away from the prying eyes of children and would-be thieves.
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