I am from cardboard playhouses, from John Deere riding lawnmowers fit for giving rides and roller skates going in every possible direction.
I am from the rolling dusty plains of Kansas, from underneath snow drift palaces and six foot icicles.
I am from the big brick house, with the roller skating rink in the basement, the house full of everyone else’s kids, jumping off the roof on a dare, laughter echoing in each room.
I am from the vast golden wheat fields, the white birch tree in the back yard bald from me peeling off the white sheets of bark.
I am from hard workers and everyone knows everyone else, from Larson and Drouhard and the unknown.
I am from don’t be afraid to try something new in a purple coat and read to me some more.
From this too shall pass, love your neighbor as yourself and sing song made up names.
I am from stain glass, pews full of family and dads eating donuts.
I'm from green-sky tornado warnings, greasy fried chicken and white gravy over bread.
From the hair brushing marathons, the ice cream eating grandfather and the hole digging brothers.
I am from fresh smelling cedar chests and cluttered attics. I’m from all those who hold my memories. I’m from so much more.
I am from the rolling dusty plains of Kansas, from underneath snow drift palaces and six foot icicles.
I am from the big brick house, with the roller skating rink in the basement, the house full of everyone else’s kids, jumping off the roof on a dare, laughter echoing in each room.
I am from the vast golden wheat fields, the white birch tree in the back yard bald from me peeling off the white sheets of bark.
I am from hard workers and everyone knows everyone else, from Larson and Drouhard and the unknown.
I am from don’t be afraid to try something new in a purple coat and read to me some more.
From this too shall pass, love your neighbor as yourself and sing song made up names.
I am from stain glass, pews full of family and dads eating donuts.
I'm from green-sky tornado warnings, greasy fried chicken and white gravy over bread.
From the hair brushing marathons, the ice cream eating grandfather and the hole digging brothers.
I am from fresh smelling cedar chests and cluttered attics. I’m from all those who hold my memories. I’m from so much more.
1 comment:
That is beautiful. I can't wait to introduce this to the women of my family at our next retreat!
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