Where I'm From

I’m from horses and hooves, and big brown beasts that gallop through the night toward morning. I’m from mystical magic meadows that start off shivering then heat up to dry desert gold, or glistening forest green.

I’m from cracked leather reins, and snow that squeaked when I fell. I’m from the darkness that hid a disease that defined my father. His weakness scrubbed our lives with sorrow. I’m also from joy that was never forgotten. I’m from a life piled high with kittens and goats, dogs and love.

I’m from the home-cooked meals and garden-grown cabbages that turned into fermented jars bubbling in the cellar. I’m from work that’s hard, where time wasn’t counted in minutes, and mornings started before dawn with dirty boots and hot coffee.

I’m from hidden poverty. Where two-hundred dollars meant the difference between choosing meals, shoes or fuel for the month. I’m from the days when a book was escape not a screen. I understood early that the further I read, the farther I’d fly.

I’m from ranches and alfalfa fields that fed the cattle, that feed the world. I’m from a soft mother’s love whose generous heart never allowed her the strength to see her value and beauty. I’m from the day when I had to be her beginning.

I’m from a quilted history, sewn from a patchwork of days. A country girl growing in a field of sunshine and storms.

Where I’m from doesn’t exist anymore. But in my heart, I’m hurtling headlong toward that horizon, mane and tail flying. Power firmly in my hands and between my knees.

Artwork by Author: "Daffodils and Fairy Spud"