Where I'm From

I am from abstracts,
from Gucci and spirituality.
I am from the paste by the cloakroom.
(Green, walloping,
it smelled like beet.)
I am from the weeping sycamore
the slippery blue redwood
whose landlocked inks I gyrated
as if they were my own.

I'm from white radish and racehorses,
          from Traci and Deanna.
I'm from the nerds
          and the vainglorious,
from 'nah' and 'what'!
I'm from 'Whatever the mind can conceive and believe, the mind can achieve'
          'We become what we think about'
          and one fairy tales I can say myself.

I'm from Watsonville and Kentwood,
pan-broiled turnip and hot red wine.
From the waist my godfather coughed
          while camping,
the canary my great-grandparents asked to keep their sight.

Before my dresser was a dense box
holding vile instincts,
a sift of cool faces
to ask inside my reds.
I am from those cushions--
encroached before I fainted--
roach-fold from the profiteers tree.

Regenerate


poem generator by Mary Dickson based on the original by George Ella Lyon. A project for #NaNoGenMo, November 2015.