I am from shag pile carpet, from Sears catalogue and unfinished basement.
I am from shared room and hand-me-downs, from limb-ripped Barbie and trampoline.
I am from wheat-field and thunderstorm,
from sweltering nights, and screen porch and mosquitoes and flies.
I am from hail-stone and crab-apple, from mustard and wild flower.
I'm from prairie and lake, from ice-fishing and ski-doo.
I am from noisy Christmas, perogies and turkey and apple pie,
from rumoli and chips and hide-and-go-seek.
I am from snow forts and frost-bite and chapped cheeks,
from bright red parkas and toques.
I am from moving, from awkwardness and navel-gazing,
from craggy mountains and wild rivers.
I am from orchards and skiing, from lazy sun-bathing and hill-climbing.
From milk in a jug from the farmer and wine in vats fermenting.
I am from coast, from rain and from slow.
I am from 96% and "what happened to the other 4?"
from discussion and argument.
I am from knowing everything and saying little,
from watching and learning.
I'm from small town and quiet.
I am from youth group and choir, from clarinet and old folks home.
I am from McDonald's and Anne-with-an-e,
from bowling, and progressive dinners and fireworks and beige-car-picking-up-staff.
I am from breakwater and wind, from rocky west coast and salt.
I'm from northern lights and dogwood,
from Gortex and wool socks and Birkenstocks.
I'm from academia and Austen,
from Gothic and New Jerusalem Bible.
I am from faith and standing up, from loving and being loved.
I am from candle-lit wedding and good-bye.
I am from life-is-an-adventure, from fresh start and new country.
I am from west again, from black sand and mountain,
from green pasture and dairy. I am from pastoral, from tui and haka,
cream brick and tree-lined drive.
I am from all-six-of-us, from piano and pizza,
from garden swing and screenless windows.
I am from roots and family, from stories and friends.
I am from home.