This is a poem that Natasha Zimmerman wrote to answer my usual question of “where are you from”, as well as a video of her reading it.
The poem
I am from frigid six-month winters and the abiding awe of snowfall,
From harvest-time suppers in dusty fields
And the clean, clean earth of mud-soaked country roads.
I am from oceans away and here.
I am from America, but not this one.
I belong everywhere I’ve ever been.
I am from stacks and stacks of dog-eared books,
From abandoned umbrellas and the golden hour.
I am from poetry and cello music,
From furrowed brows and furrowed fields.
I am from kisses by starlight and broken hearts by daylight.
I am from knowingness and mystery.
I am from the certainness of the sacred.
I am from my grandpa’s galoshes and gentle shoulder squeezes.
I am from the strong hands of my grandmothers,
Made of sterner stuff than me.
I am from big questions and small ones too,
And I am from the loveliest of all human acts:
The soft soul-bow of inhabiting this moment with you.
