My Origin

Origins, Listed

I’m from a tobacco barn,

from a long line of March lilies

and cockle-burrs. I hail from

the oak and maple trees and

the wrong side of the law.

From that box filled with tapes

of Beethoven and Chopin,

from battlements of Legos, a wall of mud graffiti.

I’m from that flit of Zorro’s cape,

the tightrope of railroad ties,

Prince Edward Island,

And behind the back

of a northern wind

From at least two acres of chamomile,

half a shelf of Philips commentaries,

and a collection of teacups—

there beside the pink one

my brother gave me.

I came from the snap and crack

of a thunderstorm,

a rivulet of rose quartz

veining through the heart of a black hill,

and a safe-hold for

the treasures of the snow.