Thanks to George Ella Lyon and Fred 1st at Fragments for giving me permission to think about writing. Not that they know they did, for sure. For a while, I've been thinking I have something to say, but I've never been sure where to begin. My formal education never gave me much of an opportunity to explore this part of my brain. I suppose I was always focused on getting somewhere else. Well, somewhere else is here now, and it's never too late to start.
Just to give my new blog a simple housewarming, I'll start with my Where Sharon's From poem. After all, it was this poem that made me think perhaps...just perhaps...I can find my voice. Thank you Ms. Lyon and Fred for introducing her to me.
I am from apple dumplings,
from Capezio shoes
and phosphate drinks.
I am from the laundry flapping in the wind
and the penny pinching.
I am from the pink hollyhocks,
the double blossoms perfect
for making a clothespin baby's skirt.
I am from the scrabble dirt farmers
and wide hips and big feet,
from Rollie and Isabel
and all the Unknowns in the genealogy charts.
I am from the stubborn and the strong.
From "work before pleasure" and
"idle hands are the devil's workshop".
I am from vacation bible school
with baptismal blue Bible gifts.
I'm from the Heartland,
tacos and enchiladas,
pot roast on Saturdays
and fried chicken on Sundays.
From my Papa's softly whispered "Bonita Chiquita",
and my Father's arc welded steel,
and my Mother's sudsy hands.
I am from forgotten
black and white pictures,
misplaced names and places.
Faces that look at me from the mirror of my life.