I am made up of all the places I’ve been,
lessons I’ve learned,
and stories that have yet to be told.
I am stitched together by
and strong coffee.
I have soil that smells like heaven when it rains,
flowing through my blood.
I’m made from hanging laundry on the clothesline,
and homemade buttermilk biscuits.
My heart beats to the sound of an old acoustic guitar-
that my father still plays on that old front porch-
that he built with his bare hands.
Where I become that little girl in pigtails,
sitting at her daddy’s feet, every time I listen.
I am from Larry & Peggy’s branch on the family tree.
From fried green tomatoes,
and peanut butter fudge.
From the Glenn Miller albums that my granddaddy used to play,
to the ceramic sculptures molded by my mamma’s dainty hands.
In my closet is an old hat box,
spilling pictures of lost faces,
and places that no longer look the same.
I am from those faces and places.
I am from those moments in time-
captured before my roots were planted-
before I blossomed on that family tree.
Kristian L. Weigman