I am from cookie tins, from Dole and choice.
I am from the black panes.
I am from the yaupon, the pears
I am from Sunday church and dependence, from Bo and Mama and “Hey, you doodie”.
I am from this is how it is and live for nobody else.
From hardheaded and remember.
I am from we’ll go through the motions and it is none of my business whether you believe it. This is where I let you live your life.
I’m from Dallas stretching to the French Quarter, to the waves of the south and the mountains of the north, cabbage soup and jasmine rice.
From the “but he flew over here to meet me”, and accidents, and the tangles of feelings, and the sagging wrinkles crowding into a smile.
I am from the bar that is now a place for wine that will never be used in the wine festival, decorative tubes that remind me I still blow through despite the dust that gets between my teeth, reminding all of us what can and what should be.
Created: Mar 28, 2010Document Media