Where I Come From

Home in June is like the long awaited summer finally biting the worm, and as I reel it in, it feels so right, so satisfying.

It's the curved brick walk I watched Daddy lay, hedged by the wispy pops of color I've watched Momma tend for years.

It's the pergola under which my white dress swirled as my groom spun his bride in a dance,

it's the pool that booby trapped the TP-ers one inky black summer night.

It's the front porch swing, it's Tiff's boys with their long eyelashes.

It's our Lilly girl who I can't go a visit home without someone exclaiming how much she looks like her auntie, it's always leaving later than I say I will.

Because really, it's hard to leave where you come from when where you come from is where I come from.