Journal #3

This was an assignment for my Creative Writing class. It's basically a journal entry inspired by a poem (whose title and author have escaped me), and this is technically just supposed to be a draft, but I've already rewritten it about 5 times, so this may be pretty final, if I can help it. Also, it's not actually supposed to rhyme, and I usually try to avoid rhyming in my poetry, but for reason this just... happened. So I let it. Plus, it was the professor who said that day, "If you're the kind of person who gets freaked out or paralyzed: Get over it." - Teresa Martin.

"Where I'm From"

I am from the Russian Olive, whose scent is sweet and strong,

and I am from a purple orchid, its crumpled petals a sign of lost love.

I am from a pumpkin painted house with forest green trim,

from a small valley living in the shadows of Saddle Rock and Mission Ridge.

I am from high mountain tops capped with glistening snow,

from the raging Columbia River, her waters swift and always cold.

I am from sexy high heels that I buy but never wear,

from Madden Girl and Hot Kiss, from wondering if people care.

I am from Arkansas Musicians and German Alcoholics,

from the Hillbilly South and from the High-Cultured Europe.

I am from beef stew and stir fry, Cool Whip and squash pie,

from Spatzle and Sauerkraut, Bratwurst and fresh Rye.

I am from my Uncle Ivan who used to look like Elvis,

from feather beds, real Christmas trees, and quick picked mandolins.

I am from pianos with white, ceramic keys,

from Jurassic Park monsters that used to chase me in my dreams.

I am from Gone with the Wind, Swim the Moon, and Harry Potter,

from James Mitchner, Margaret Mitchell, Sharon Creech, and no-name writers.

I am from maybe there's a God, but also probably not,

from I' believe there's only darkness after you are gone.