I am from the whining red stools

from the snowing dust ceiling fan or the Grandfather apple tree

I am from that big house that is too small for seven

and that wishing quiet would ensue

I am from impatiens and morning glories

whose frozen still and grinning hope

I am from Zeus the rottweiler and Calico the stray

from Butterfly and Pages

I am from Hatian anger and Southern hospitality

and from kicking dramatics and dancing arts

from stubborn resistance and stagnant hurt

I am from "But God"

I am from Henry the Warrior and Malerbe the Where Were You

from Mama's macaroni and cheese and promised french toast

from the Vietnam War

and from the absence and abandonment of a father

play rehearsals til midnight and still waking early for service

I am from those moments of wishing that quiet would ensue but

wanting Butterfly and Pages to stay