I am from the white picket fence
From wooden rocking chairs and Jones’ cream soda
I am from the wraparound porch
adorned with hanging baskets bursting over with
warm orange, and gentle yellow
touch-me-nots trembling
in the cool southern breeze
I am from the blooming magnolia,
evergreen gentlemen slow-dancing
with ladies dressed elegantly
in all the loveliest shades
of yellow and white
I am from prayer and patience
From Bobby and Penny
I’m from always leaving later than planned and
never turning down a hot-n-fresh Krispy Kreme donut
I’m from feeding the cocker spaniels
and taking out the trash
I’m from heads bowed before supper,
that nightly ritual of giving thanks
I’m from South Carolina arrayed in her southern charm,
red velvet cake, and Mama’s sweet, sweet tea
I’m from the time Josh fell out of the shower,
breaking the commode off the wall, yet
somehow keeping his dignity intact
(Well, maybe not completely intact)
And the time – no, countless times – my family has been
there to show their beautiful and most unconditional
love no matter what foolish thing I’d done
The small, dark space between my locker and
my cooler contains something far greater than
simple photos and hand-written letters
That small, dark space holds all that I have from a
life worth living
over and over
and over again
