I'm a mix of country girl and telegrapher, Cherokee and British heritage, dusty, gravel roads and boiling city sidewalks, a room here, a duplex there, always transient.
I'm from the wafting fragrance of gardenias, the stalwart gladiola,
rose bushes smiling through the window, lightning bugs in the evening, four-leaf clovers.
I'm from switches on skinny legs, birthday cake on a tiny pedestal plate, swings in Poindexter Park, ice cream cones from Seale-Lily, tiny eyeglasses, porch swing after supper, wartime rations, tin can collections, war bonds.
From pink dresses with pockets, a cherished bike, telegrams on special days, nightly hair rolling, evening strolls after supper, polio scare and shots, tap dance lessons.
I'm from Vacation Bible Schools, Bible-thumping preachers under tents, Sunday funny papers, Hit Parade and radio dramas on Saturday nights, Saturday matinees.
I'm from freshly-baked biscuits smothered with syrup, Blue Ribbon milk, home made cakes and Christmas divinity, summer vegetables, hot corn bread, Sunday morning pancakes, 5 cent Krystals, and hot tamales from the corner vendor.
From Reader's Digest issues, Saturday rides to the public library, games of Monopoly and Go Fishing, walks to and from school, vinyl records.
I'm from Daddy's silly poems, Mother's weekly notes, Sister's dance recitals, summers at Camp Montreat, NC., wonderful times when we loved and shared love.