Where I'm From

I am from the west wind salt

splashing against strands of sea grass

and freshly split wood under the blue tarp

I am from my mother's love, brought up

with the thick hands of my father's fight

and my grandmothers open heart

I am from the depths of the Atlantic

the warm surface of Sagadahoc Bay

I sit on a strand of pearls tied with

silver, gold, and rust

I am from the smiles of my sisters,

the smell of a Sunday evening rush

peppered with lobster, bleach, and a sunset

I am from the hymns of the church

the cuss words of the tired fisherman,

from the guitar strings of the boy with brown eyes

the temper of the current from hells gates

I am from the raisin apple pie and the voice of Johnny Cash

the phone numbers scribbled on the faded yellow lined paper

the simplicity of an early August evening