Who I Am.

I am from the dirt beneath my fingernails

I am from caterpillars in bitter brush

From dust like chalk in my mouth

Running barefoot through the woods, stick in hand

I am the keeper of the june bugs

My tight blonde curls a matted mess

Wild and unbroken

I am from Lannegan, Loiselle, and Conditt

From outlaws and bronc riders

From fishermen and fallers 

From “Egads and little fishhooks”

From the soil beneath the river beds

In pursuit of prosperity

The pathway paved with obstacles 

I am from “dirty little rotters”

Bent over board games and Yahtzee

I am from the back roads and scraped up knees

From blackberry picking in the summer heat

The smell of old grease still in the pan

The sound of ambers crackling at 3 a.m.

Built up from Paul Bunyan’s hands

I am from the carpenter’s eye

Level and precise, but creative too

In my hands is an old guitar,

And in my throat is a voice borrowed

From generations that came before me

I am from years of struggle and survival

From the depression, from cockpits

From planes never flown, and wars never fought

I am the hope and dream for the future

I am the embodiment of better days ahead 

The desire to want more and to be more

I am a child touched by King Midas

Driven by ambition

I am the saccharine soldier
I am the daughter of the tin man
And I hold my heart in my hands