Where We're From

We drove west through silver sunlight
of November coming early. Drove west

toward the train tracks where we sat and waited
singing Oh Susannah, counting cars.

Out to where the city slid away down
into country, like where we’re from:

dirt roads and stands of trees looking out
over swells and lulls; small lakes

ringed in fading reeds, and cattails;

an orchard stitched onto the hills. We rode
a slow farm wagon out from a white barn.

Reached our chilled and tender hands into the gnarled mess
of tree and fruit. Taught the children how to grasp

and twist: Only take the ones that come off easy,
we said.  Pockets full, they ran back down a two track

to the car. We walked behind them hauling baskets,
watching the mixture of limbs and light,

souls and bones; smelling fruit.

Dinner was plain and filling. The children shone
after baths, went to bed gently.

I climbed the stairs to our bedroom early,
tired from fresh air and from memories.

Later when you tucked the quilts in under my chin,
my soul banked and turned high above land. I looked

down, saw the rain falling soft on our roof.
Closed my eyes and heard its message:

baptism, blessing; quiet applause.


Poet's note: This poem came out of an actual day in the life of our family - a happy day after a time of difficulty and illness. It attempts to put words to my belief that we all come from, and return to, a place of happiness and light.