We all come from somewhere

I am from leaping

into piles of papery leaves

with no concern

for what might lurk.

I am from wandering

in thickety-woods

with salt in my hand

and cider on my tongue--wary of neighborhood ghosts.

I am from icicles

long as swords

and miniature worlds

reflected.

I am from licking thick

maple syrup drizzled

on powdery-pure

fresh snow.

I am from reading

about lost ponies

and making a fence

for a plastic herd.

I am from solemn pledges,

earning badges.

eating s'mores

by campfire.

I am from catching

pink salamanders alone at the creek

and chasing fireflies, who might be fairies,

on summer nights.

I am from skunk weed,

pond water, hanging barns,

rotting porches and

cardinals bright as blood.

I am from girls who

leave others behind

and boys who whisper

forbidden truths.

I am from helping

measure gunpowder into

paper rolls in the secret

stillness of his basement.

I am emerging from innocence but I don't know it yet.

This is a writing prompt used as an exercise, which began with a poem, "Where I'm From" by George Ella Lyon. I got the idea of trying this from author Marilyn Donahue whose new blog, Lines in Time, is full of tips for richer writing.

I chose to recall a two-year-period of my childhood spent in rural Ohio. You can pick anything, any place and mine it.