Where I’m From

I’m from coal dust as much as stardust.

 

I’m from a coal town in the Alleghenies, 

a patchwork quilt of ethnic minorities,

all poor except those who weren’t. 

I’m from potatoes, casseroles, homemade noodles, 

and the aroma of fresh bread, 

soup for breakfast on frigid winter mornings and,

plain cooking, and practical life.

 

I’m from white-tail deer country,

pure mountain spring water,

from cricks and hollers, 

a dense laurel-laden forest, 

fishin’ holes created by beaver dams, 

from Northey to Southy and beyond, 

a playground I thought was Eden

where anything I needed or wanted 

was in walking distance. 

 

I’m from cinders on winter roads, 

boney piles, and the smell of burning sulfur;

from generations of dollar-a-day miners, 

men who knew Sunday 

as their only day in the sun.

I’m from a heritage of resolute women who 

challenged the powerful, 

marched for just causes, 

and ran for office 

even before they had the right to vote.

 

I’m from Frank and Sue Louise called Louise 

by everyone but Frank, who called her Suzie;

from a household nesting grandmothers and cousins

in rented houses with napkin rings on the table. 

I’m from quiet BTV evenings reading classics 

and listening to classical, swing and jazz

prepping my brother and me 

as the family firsts to go to college, 

an obligation I knew was mine 

as early as fourth grade. 

 

I’m from an Irish-Catholic, Scot-Presbyterian,

catechism and flannel-board-Jesus childhood 

with an ecumenical gaggle of friends.

 From childhood days of 

“I’m leaving, Mom” in the morning and

“You be home by dinner, Michael” 

knowing precisely when dinner would be.

 

I’m from 15¢ movies with a cartoon and newsreel 

and 25¢ double features on Saturdays.

I’m from climbing up on a stool at the soda fountain 

in the drugstore to get a sundae or Lemon Blennd;

and later the single packet “Speedy” Alka Selzer, 

the before the double-the-price pop-pop fizz-fizz 

two in a packet version. 

 

I’m from digging out swimming holes along Cold Stream 

on cool spring days before the town lake opened 

that my brother and father dug out before me. 

I’m from two-cent bubble-gum cards 

attached to my bike spokes,

from marbles, mumbly peg, red rover come over,

“High-buckety-buck,” and footballs 

made out of socks and friction tape

that at school we would put in our pockets 

alongside our knives. 

 

I’m from a generation that disappeared 

when the jobs along with the deep coal ran out, 

and the next war began.

The education that was to secure our future

became our underground railroad

to escape the mines 

and the town.

 

The “Where I’m From” of my children 

was to be built west of Eden.