I Am From

I come from ripened blueberries,
from purple-stained fingers and calloused hands.
From stacked boxes that smelled like money.

I come from corn-chowder meals
and paycheck to paycheck living.
Plus cold showers and recycled cereal milk.
I come from fist-fights with brothers and jealous sisters.

I come from the train tracks leading to the Berry’s,
the tressel where I scratched my name with rocks
and would entrust all my fears.
From fallen leaves and winter slopes,
From long weekend camping trips to tenting
in my backyard.

I come from the cries of loons on Spring River Lake.
From budding forests and spring peepers,
and the bear cub we chased down the road.
I come from canoe races and cousins
who taught me to swim.

I come from championship rides with friends
in the back of my dad’s pickup truck.
From ramming the back roads with my Cavalier.
From four science fairs trophies with Anna,
and class field trips to the nearby salt waters.

I come from Sunday school mornings and church afternoons,
from the Green Pole which is as far as my mother
would let me ride my bike.
From melodies sung from the tops of seesaws,
and four friendships that made life possible.

I am from Downeast Maine.