I am from the woodshop and trains running in the basement.

I am from the garden and lakes.

I am from the brick house off York Rd.

With the big Oak Tree in front

Whose branches dwarf and shade the house.

I am from Virginia and White Oak and Catonsville.

I am from fried chicken and corn.

I am from the Rhodes 19 bobbing in the Bay.

And the wood canoe with a bass flapping in the bottom.

I am from Reid, Claire, Max, and Sarah.

I am from the brick house off York Rd.

a sunny bank of windows that revealed a shadow world

From a darkly paneled attic bedroom made warm and safe by a Queen

I am from a little white Cape Cod house with green shudders and a black door, framed by roses, rhododendron 

and ivy.

I am from the oak, maple and sycamores I grew up under, forever reaching up and out, and every once in a while showing up in a blaze of color just because I can.

I am from sticks and stones gathered into a valuable collection to share,

From Evelyn and Carmela - two women essential to my being, (yet only one knew me at all)

From perseverance, nurturing.

I am from ritual and tradition, but neither seemed to stick; 

from feasts of seafood and fresh vegetables

From feeding 400 children a day

   And from the bowels of a steel refinery.

A canine companion steadfast and loving through the mid-years when nothing seemed to stay still.

I am from the moments of silence and stillness, of rushing and spinning, of standing still and breathing deep the aromas, sights, sounds and energy of the world around me.