I am from the little 2-bed trailer, cheap brown tin,
From my gentle mother, hands as big as a man's,
Calling me out of the sunshine, come see, and then;
From my ever-adored, ever-adoring baby sister, Julianne.
I am from the smell of peaches, rotten and sweet,
From "yes ma'am, no ma'am" and too much Sunday School,
From a catfish pond, autumns warm enough to dip your feet,
From abstinence education, not condoms--and far too many rules.
I am from the transatlantic flight that landed at Gate 4,
The awkward teenage girl collected by strangers,
Who only saw the beauty of a foreign shore;
Missed the deceits, the mobile goalposts, the dangers.
I am from autistic spectrum disorders, a bitter divorce,
The world's 2 loveliest kids and wondering if they'll speak,
From taking a quarter-century to plot my own course
To my own quirky family, perfect and unique.