L'Etoile du Nord

While in class yesterday, I kept myself busy with a little bit of grading and adding to the I Am poem we started at the beginning. It soon morphed into a poem about where I am from, more so than me in my current place/time/position/mindset.
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L'Etoile du Nord

I am from backyard woods, a

maze of oaks and acorns, and 

falling maple helicopters.

from forts of ferns and tree hole witches brew,

long summer days spent at Jan’s

laundry sheet hammocks stretching 

for an afternoon nap.

from yeah, sure

and sometimes you betchas.

from casseroles and apple cider, and

the World’s Best macaroni and cheese 

made special from the hands of my father.

from rosey cheeks and sniffling noses

sodden mittens and hole-in-the-hill snow forts

I am from broken and bandaged families

with slowly healing wounds

from cottages and cabins, 

Up North camping and canoes

Hours spent with wrinkly fingers

never far from water, still

Minnehaha, Minneapolis, Mankato, M&M

from colored crayons and chemistry kits,

late nights gazing at crystal clear skies, 

wondering

if that light in the distance is Mars, or

Venus, or L’Etoile du Nord?

Or something else, like

what does heaven look like, 

if you know everything, Mom?

I am from reserved until full-force

with genuine sincerity

if you don’t have something nice to say...

and above all else, The Golden Rule.

from privilege and support, both

financially and emotionally

Always keeping near me that

Never Ending Supply of gratitude.