Where I'm From 
by Tabatha Yeatts 

I'm from roads like a rollercoaster 
leading to a valley town, 
from clogs and fiddles, 
porch swings and crawdaddies, 
a little grits with my butter, 
and fresh donuts around the corner 
from the bookstore. 

I'm from barefoot and bees, 
and playing outside until someone's hurt -- 
probably me -- 
from the smell of cows in the distance, 
and from leaving the football game 
as soon as I can 
but staying until the 
basketball game is over. 

I'm from riding the lawnmower 
with my granddaddy, 
playing cards with granny, 
from homemade popsicles 
for myself and the neighbors, 
from art supplies and the 
bliss of blank paper, 
a joy that fills me still.