From library giveaways and old shelves

I am from the desert, flat and dry, steadily growing greener farther west

It smelled of sweat, dust and bike tires

I am from the dry shrubbery, the tumbleweeds 

With their small shriveled branches woven tight

I’m from the Christmas tree hanging from the ceiling

And quiet indignation from Ranie and Tom and Connie

I’m from the musicals sung along to and throwing food across the table

I’m from human rights, and free will

I’m from my birthplace Arkansas, hush puppies and black-eyed peas.

From the bobcats my grandfather hid in suitcases

The not-so-quiet indignation. 

I am from hope, words, rain, anger, loss, and far too many forced fresh starts.