I’m from the tobacco fields of Kentucky. Of farmland and roadside barbeque stands.
I’m from the squares in Savannah, the truck stops in Florida, I’m from a family that spread itself wide across the country for room to breathe.
I’m from a valley that lies between the Ohio River and Fourpole Creek, from brick houses on brick streets, from porch naps and fireflies.
I’m from Sit up straight and Sweet dreams.
I’m from skinned knees and walking to school and lunch in brown paper bags.
I’m from a tribe of girlfriends and passing notes and pinky swears.
I’m from fake IDs and fraternity parties and football games.
I’m from holding on and holding it in, from the pause in conversation.
Where I’m from is the space between lines of words on a page.
These days I’m from pigtails and Matchbox cars, from phone calls that stretch long into an afternoon.
I’m from kissing boo-boos and broken toys, from crock pots and church pot-lucks.
I’m from preschool pick up and Remember to flush.
But in a hidden shadow place I’m still from acres of farmland, still from fireflies that glow yellow when I unfurl my fingers and open my hand.
They light the way back to where I’ve been.
Mary Lauren Weimer is a social worker turned mother turned blogger. She’s pursuing a career as a freelance writer, and her work has been published in Sleet Magazine and featured on many popular websites. Her blog, My 3 Little Birds, focuses on the small reflections – MOMents – in each day that make life beautiful.
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