“I have learned to use the word ‘impossible’ with great caution.” – Werner Von Braun

Happy 36th anniversary to my parents – two crazy kids who got this notion about forever and have ridden it out, over a few bumps here and there, trusting God along the way. I wrote this poem last year. It’s mostly about them. I love you, Mom and Dad.

Where I’m From

I am from Genesis 9:1.

I am from highways and rest stops,
from the VW bus with calico curtains and sticky vinyl seats
(I can hear the soft rip of summer skin pulling away from them).

I am from living room forts and stepped-on Legos
from trampolines and flickering porch lights.
It was too late if the streetlamps had come on.

I am from singalongs and family meetings around the butcher block table,
from the corner of each closet where I hastily scribbled
Goodbye, house. Til we meet again.

I am from clapping crowds, shouting for Jesus,
from secrets only sisters can share
on bunkbeds or creekbeds.

I am from laughter-tears and throat lumps,
from squeezed hands and mumbled prayers

from pregnant pauses

and whispered amens

I am from that moving target:

home

I am that knotted-up family.

The miles run through me
The prayers echo