By Lacie Semenovich
after George Ella Lyon
I am from pond water and mountain breath,
the sweet taste of summer honeysuckle.
I am from mud pies and mom’s spoons lost in the dirt.
From coal piles and the sound of splitting wood.
I am from apples fresh from the tree, berries from the bush.
I am from the scrape of leaves moved to find mushrooms.
From the view of the holler at the ridgetop and
my mother’s footpath down the mountain.
I am from my Mammy’s cancer, my Aunt Carrie’s
Barbie dolls browned in the sun, my Grandmother’s
homemade noodles. From the smell of rose perfume.
The sweat of gardening, fingernails darkened with dirt.
I am from apple tree spaceships, Nancy Drew,
and The Babysitter’s Club. I am from rock concerts
on septic tanks – the audience a field of cows.
I am from imagination and tales taller than myself.
A spinning wheel, a bowling trophy, hand
beaded necklaces, well-worn recipe books,
my mother’s stories I cling to for all that has passed,
all that has been reborn, reshaped in me.
Lacie Semenovich is the author of a chapbook, Legacies (Finishing Line Press, 2012). Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in B O D Y, Nixes Mate Review, Misfit Magazine, Shrew Literary Magazine, and other journals. She lives in Cleveland, Ohio.