I come from a foot peddle beneath a whirring sewing machine
and the first beneath Dad’s automotive fingernails
the slopes of Ski Windham
and the weekend retreats of the Catskills
I was born from the pages of Gladys’ daily journals
the duffle-bag of Ivan’s Navy days
the straight-line scriptures of Howard’s sermons
the escapes of Gertude’s novels
I am the neon tattoo of the dandelion
the flaming bristles of the devil’s paintbrush
a loose slab on a historic stone wall
I was nourished on
fried yellow squash blossoms
powdered milk
Quaker Instant oatmeal
birch beer
and candy circus peanuts
I am
Hello, Hollywood
Inside or out
and
Straighten up and fly right
I am from packages of dress patterns
from under real Christmas trees
from in front of a 13-inch television
My life is written in glue and glitter on red Christmas bulbs
When we celebrated on Thanksgiving
before my grandparents traveled south
with the geese
I am contained in John Denver record covers
tangled in a berry patch
blessed by traveling mercies
and I scream with the voice of a beagle’s bark
and the echo of a snow shovel on a long gravel driveway
and the urgency of the fire stations siren when there often are no volunteers
