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.