…alexis, who claims she can’t write. to say i disagree couldn’t be more of an understatement; she just summed up our small, happy New Hampshire childhood in a nutshell. in a way only one of the three of us could; it’s a place only we know.

where i’m from

i am from live free or die,
from arlington pond and summer pals.
i am from the country store and sticky penny candy.
i am from the field and three-legged races;
the rock and are you afraid of the dark.

i’m from bunkbeds, barbies, and bunnies,
from hours on end in the family van.
i’m from family first and it’s between you and God,
from sleeping bags with broken zippers and a beautiful place in the mountains.

i’m from my papa’s recipes,
sweet apple pie and crepes with brown sugar.
from the war he fought and won,
to his battle with life in which he lost,
and the     empty         space he left behind.

tucked away in the furthest corner of my parents’ attic
is a box filled to the brim,
filled with memories of my childhood and beyond–
books of photographs and ticket stubs,
familiar faces and old sayings,
carefully crafted together:
works of art!
(the only form deemed worth my effort).
If only the city had more  s t o r a g e