−after Ella Lyon

I’m from rocky wells and rocking chairs,

from Twin Pines Dairy and A&P.

I’m from the 1958 all-electric brick ranch

(back patio, smooth cement hidden

behind clothes drying on the line).

I’m from the Catholic/Lutheran compromise,

from Blums and Hungerfords,

long branches on the West European tree.

From the rebellious beard of my father,

and my mother’s hypernose

(Neanderthal inheritance A-).

From the “if you can’t say something nice,

don’t say anything at all.”

I’m from vegetables and blossoms,

sauerkraut and serviceberries.

From the combined libraries

of the young couple who met

in the middle at teacher college:

the storyteller last to leave the estate auction,

and the weekly letter-home country mouse.

I’m from the water that tastes like blood.