Where I'm From...

I am from a loaded, freshly run dishwasher
From an overflowing ashtray and my father atrophying in his oversized leather chair.
I am from the bright yellow paint, the torn, vinyl barstools that scratch little legs—
From the gnocchi dough rolled off the back of a fork and the fresh pasta
drying on racks throughout the kitchen. From the pile of freshly grated parmesan that stunned the neighborhood kids who recognized that cheese only as powder. Sneak a pinch and the taste would bite you back.

I am from diseased Aspen, planted at an elevation too low to survive.
The dandelions no one could kill, the tulips and daffodils that sprouted defiantly each year through the choking Kentucky bluegrass, large and bright and happy, eventually chopped up in the lawn mower.
The enormous, lightening stunted Blue Spruce, gray, round top, spanning the front yard from sidewalk to bedroom window—unforgiving needles scraping the pink, puffy skin of a desperate child trying to retrieve her swallowed toy—
Those long limbs I remember
As if they were my own.

I’m from long car rides to visit family across the western states and wine drunk red faces laughing deeply, laughter that could dig beneath the pain of everyday oppression—
From mother sewing our clothes and Halloween costumes
And dad standing on the front porch, watching his children piled into the car for another night at a hotel.
I’m from a TV blaring from dawn till dusk and eating our meals around it
And from the continuous traffic of footsteps in and out of the house throughout the day and night.

I’m from “Go clean your room,” and “Good. Fine. I don’t know.”
And “Daylight in the swamps.”
I’m from no good fishing in Utah—all the trout are in Idaho.
From spacious suburbia South Ogden, massively wide streets, white sidewalks, hornets nesting in the entryway
And from Sienna grandmother who sang to and cursed at us in Italian and a Bohunk great grandfather Hroneck who loved women and sugar free candy—
Eggs in everything. Lamb on Sundays.
From a little sister who fractured her jaw, broke her arm twice, swelled from mosquito bites, and did whatever you said—
Who jumped from the top of the slide, had seizures you could never see, did handstands during soccer games, and could never remember rules.
Beachwood TV trays, folding laundry rack, heavy oak table we used at Thanksgiving or when mom and dad were making up, steel wool and Ajax—
I keep my own supply of it all,
Here in North Idaho,
Only we sit at the table for everything, and the TV trays serve as extra counter space
to cool cookies.