Where I’m From

I am from bouncy balls,

From Little Debbies and Pillsbury layers

I am from the house on the corner.

Maroon, hilly, smell of chlorine in the backyard

I am from buttercups and daises,

the great magnolia

that blooms ivory buds annually.

I’m from lasagna and olive skin,

from Johnny and George.

I’m from the notorious dog owners

and the never on times,

From quality is better than quantity

and God is bigger than the boogie man.

From

the car that smashed into the house and the piano that slid across the floor while Natalie was in the bathroom.

the magician who amuses so many.

A chest lies in my parents’ room

filled with memories of long-lost friends

and baseball games

and birthdays.

Pictures may fade to gray

but our family will last

forever. 

A Room of Gratefulness

            Though it’s rather small, our kitchen is the homiest of the rooms in the house.  It’s like a photo album, full of memories.  The mustard colored walls and roughly painted cabinets give it character.  While my father occasionally reads scripture aloud, the refrigerator hums and the tea pot whistles as if they agree with the word of the Lord.  Often on Fridays’, my momma rolls out her sourdough and stirs the boiling sauce while the sausage sizzles in the iron skillet.  I always snatch some mozzarella.  My dad, too, picks at the cheese, but he grabs it less surreptitiously than I.  The whiff of homemade pizza baking in the oven is a blanket, warming smiles and spirits.  Everyone is happy, grateful, and blessed to be part of such a loving family.  We end the night with comforting thoughts and heaps of laughter.