where I'm from

I am from polyester, from Velveeta and magic markers.

I am from the old blue turn-of-the-century house with stone stairs, avocado shag carpeting, tugboats lowing, and rain drumming on trash cans.

I am from bearded irises, wet green moss, crimson japanese maple, crumbling pavement, fog.

I am from wedding showers and packrats and collections, from Little and Big Grandma, from the Klingsporns and the Gays and the Valentines.

I am from the taciturn. I am from alcoholism.

From "Oh, Linda," and "just eat a few," and mostly, saying nothing at all.

I am from the Catholics "who just want your money," and from Edgar Cayce and Shirley Maclaine and the ouija board and seances.

I'm from Bess Kaiser Hospital, from German and Scotch-Irish, from goulash and gravy and soft peanut butter cookies marked with the tines of a fork.

From the Marlon Brando-esque longshoreman who wore the nickname 'Psycho' with pride, and the explosion of cancer in the brain of a beloved matriarch stealing sharpness and strength and grace, and 'Ma' of the wispy white hair and the perpetual bra-strap sliding off her shoulder and published writer of pulp romance.

I am from black gummed paper triangles, graytone photographs with deckled white borders, magazine clippings stuck with rubber cement to construction paper scrapbooks, silver lockets with small round pictures tucked inside, and costume jewelry in pink foam egg cartons, none of it worth very much except in my heart.


A mad libs type-meme, first from Diana, and then from here.