Where I’m From
An homage to George Ella Lyon’s poem of the same title By Paul Wozney
I am from twisted pines and bleached stony forms
From fog horns blaring and buoys clanging in storms,
From everything but sports is stupid and gay
From climbing granite walls, covered in misty ocean spray.
I am from Baba’s homemade buns and perogies,
From Mom’s fresh from the oven chocolate chip cookies,
From Grandma’s cherry, apple, blueberry pie,
From tables so full it brings tears to the eye.
I am from summer vacation on Cavendish tides
From Sandspit’s go-karts and five limitless rides,
From Avonlea Cottages’ small pool, glittering blue,
From relief from teen torment I suffered through.
I am from Oswald, helping people back on their feet
From Leo, providing groceries and money in ways discrete
From Bill, who responded to hate with endurance and grace,
From Cindy, who met challenge with courage, face to face.
I am from resentment, being outcast and shunned
But that’s not where I’ll end up when this is all done.
I am from one who turned into five
And because of them, is learning how to live, love and thrive.