Search This Blog

Sunday, October 2, 2016


Writing prompt
 I am from
I am from flooded rivers at my fence and fallout from nuclear bomb tests. I am from black and white TV and from a bigotry banned HOME. 
I am from the Great Elm and the Nathaniel Foote statue at the foot of the Town Green. Fourth of July horses running up the steps and Thanksgiving smells.
I am From Kitt Peak and Cat Mountain. Hiding from hailstones behind a Sahuaro and looking uphill at a herd of Peccarys. Peaches in the desert and Peaches at Cape Cod. Peaches in Central Florida where they never grew before and dead squirrels and live snakes falling out of trees.  Eucalyptus became Simpson Stopper. Confidentiality agreements and bankrupt developers.
I am From hobos at the train station and hopping the train to get to Mickeys Restaurant.
I am from outhouses that became Condominiums. Skating under the interstate  highway during the coldest winters. Ice bombs on trains and rocks in my eye and head.  Running from the police and losing a bicycle in the Connecticut River. 
Tommy's friend drowned at Mill Woods and ten years later we toasted him In the park nearby. I am from vodka blackouts and dragging gasoline station signs in the road and driving down the wrong way on the highway and picking up a confused hitchhiker. We turned around and drove him to his exit.
I am from ill-fitting poor people skates and rutted driveways. Film tricks with 8MM movies and monster movies shown in school. I am from pushing auto shops car down a hill and drinking stolen priest wine.
Sunsets in three corners and interrupted acid mowing. Illusions of prosperity and the Independent majority party. Pagan Space and Witchvox, treebord and greenhammer.
Dogs gone mad with diabetes and jumping through windows. Razor blade fights with cats. I am from appreciating boy scouts only as an adult.

Driving a bicycle drunk downtown to get home and cycling 60 miles to the Connecticut Shore. I am from Black Mountain, Beaver Brook and Cotton Hollow.  Bums at dawn and executives on break. Shiny city slicker elevators and flatbeds.
I am from the Marian Cult and French slang. Smoking in church and looking out the cellar window as Bridey walked by and snow piles in drifts. Manly florists and feminine truck drivers.
Pulling the magic down from the air and thrill bumps at the end of Close To the Edge. Druids and Witches and unbridled cultural appropriation. 
Chills in the graveyard and a mason by trade, born 1666. Finding a bloody ancient dagger with my cousin and leaving it there. Falling in unfinished houses and wheelies on an unbuilt interstate. Gripping girders hitting one over the fence. 
I am from running right through people and looking past others. Jumping off the roof and climbing 60 feet up the Greers Pine. Richie slapping frogs on concrete and praying when the bad boys tried to drown a cat.
Planting trees for uncertain futures and promoting shrubs and bird gardens. Butterflies as food and Indigo Snakes in my arms. Dead snakes and diapers at the mall.
I am from Roger Maris and Fran Tarkenton. Concussions and crawling home. Rainbow spokes and Jupiter with my dad. Jupiter much later from Holst. I am from Hail to the Hammer and Tarkus. The Blue Beats and Cry for a Shadow. Elegy and energy. Snow boarding with art class easels and fireworks with cigars.

My own brown scapula and blessed throats. A John Paul confirmation and Uncle Joe jettisoning bigotry after church. Forceful conversion slapped upside the head and refusal to work during a blizzard.