These words are mine but the format is not – the original belongs to George Ella Lyon, but my sister and I used it as a template in a writing game she and I played over a year ago now.

I am from dresses,

from green Miracle II soap and Honey Bunches of Oats.

I am from the hundred-year-old house

(coal-blackened, carpet-floored, the bottom stair-step always groaned). 

I am from spearmint patches 

taking over flowerbeds, 

yielding Mom’s green garden tea. 

I’m from 3 books at the library on Wednesday evenings 

and talking too fast to be understood, 

From duty-bound Marlene, and unknowable Ruby Jane.

I’m from underperforming hearts and secretly calling in to Wolves Sanctuary,

From “take a calm pill” and “you were Daddy’s sunshine”. 

I’m from the Mennonite uniform 

inescapable, 

conspicuous in every town crowd.

I’m from Sedalia and Mena and Tampico, 

but really Colorado; 

Cereals for breakfasts and at bedtimes, 

Sodas in the shop refrigerator.

From my sister’s choice not to join the church, 

From my daddy’s green-brown eyes, bequeathed only to me. 

Nine hundred miles away there’s a towering bookcase, 

Shelves tight-stuffed with books. 

I am from these stories of my childhood 

Turning me into who I would become.