Thank you to Syl Mattingly who submitted this poem in response to the challenge of July 29, to write a personal version of the poem by George Ella Lyon, “Where I’m From.”
Where I’m From
i am from white clover . . .
from lightening bugs and night-crawlers
i am from the soil
in the garden
(rich and earthy . . .
it smelled like Grandma’s root cellar)
i am from the mulberry tree
the water maple
whose roots i played on . . .
encircling and cradling me
i’m from Paint by Number Jesus
Davey and Goliath . . .
chewing gun chains and stamp collections
i’m from the golden rule
and the salt of the earth
from “mother may i,” swing sets
and welded tricycle handlebars
I’m from Fisherville,
wooded hillsides and Floyd’s Fork . . .
a white horse named Cricket
from the days when the creek rose,
floodwater filling the house
and my Mother crying as we watched
I am from the journals that i wrote,
revealing my thoughts,
a flood of feelings and emotions
dredged from my soul
i am from that season
when nature enveloped me
and kept me hidden, safe within those wooded hills
by Sylvia L. Mattingly, August 7, 2017