Where I'm from

Every writer needs two kinds of critics: one that always sings praise of his/her writings, and the other that tells the truth. In hopes of unearthing a few from the second category, I place this on the blog - inspired by George Ella Lyon's poem "Where I'm From". I find my childhood a comforting place, an unending source of inspiration for a jaded could-have-been writer.

I am from kitchen soot,
kisses and kohl.
I am from the evening echoes of the conch.
(Deep, mournful
it rang out to the skies from my mother's lips.)

I am from the fragrant jasmine,
the rooted banyan
whose timeworn roots
must surely go as deep as mine.

I am from rice puddings and birthday blessings,
from too much and not enough.
I am from hand-me-downs
and ne'er-give-ups,
from secrets treasured and silences untold.
I'm from the 3 D's etched in my father's letters
(duty, discipline, determination - he said)
I chose duty over them all.

I'm from the muslin of Jaycee
from the broadcloth of Teekay too.
From the land of palm tree and fish aplenty
from milk and honeyed tales
that dripped from the lips of ancient dames.
In my closet lies a crowded box
a melange of letters and pictures
of faces and words that extol and chastise
Knowingly, they whisper in my dreams,

"One day, you too shall be here."