Friday, October 16, 2009

Where I'm From, a Poem

I am from a 1904 dwelling,
from Facebook and Halo.
I am from a San Francisco Victorian.
(White, gold, blinding in the sun.)
I am from the sunflower
the blackberry bush
whose prickly spines, left bloodstainsleft bloodstains on my shirt.

I’m from Christmas and brown hair

from Steve and Deborah.

I’m from the sharp-witted,

and the sharp-tongued.

From every type of cookie imaginable from my grandma’s kitchen

to knowing every wildflower on Mt. Tamalpais.

I’m from the natural world,

roaring waterfalls, towering granite cliffs, and peaceful meadows.

I’m from the Owen’s, and the Walkup’s,

from chocolate chip cookies and Whisky Pie

From the father who rolled a jeep when he was 16

to the sister who picks up deadly scorpions and lived.

I'm from the gallery of photos on the wall

that greet me every morning like the morning sun.

I am from Grandpa Owen's fishing yarns

and the gavel he had carved from William Penn's tree.

I am from Grandpa Walkup's radio that no longer sings to me.

I'm from flamenco guitar flowing through my fingers with lightning speed.

I'm from the depths of the cool clear water which cover the earth

like sugar on a lollipop.

I am from warm summer days with gentle breezes

that whisper of trout swimming in the high mountain lakes.


Zack Owen-Walkup