|I am from the red clay of Neshoba County on a hot August night
and the lights of Meridian blurred by a child's tears.
From parsonages in the capitol, the delta, the prairie,
and the Northeastern hills.
I am from the 16-year-old teacher who knew too well the Great Depression
and I am from the deep, black hole of my own depression.
From the voice trained for opera that chose to sing for church in Coldwater.
From choirs of angels singing with abandon and joy.
I am from family suppers and the sharing of the day
and from fresh vegetables and cold iced tea.
From high school pep squads and gangs of friends.
From the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat.
I am from laughter-until-it hurts days
and nights of tears until my eyes are dry.
From faith in the God of Second Chances and Grace.
From worship on Vesper Hill.
I am from celebrations and jubilees
and from long talks into the night sharing secrets.
From the adults who shaped me.
From the friends who tolerated and uplifted me.
I am from the sunshine warm on my skin
and from the smell of it's-about-to-rain.
From rainbows too bright to be anything but holy.
From thousands of shades of new green in spring.
I am from faith and love beyond description.
I am from warm, strong arms when I am fragile.
I am from the line of fathers and mothers,
sisters and brothers whose faces I see in my own.
I am from the years of becoming me.
© Copyright 2012 Bo Hall (UN: ladyreb at Writing.Com).
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