Belonging

By: Lauren Cannon

I am from blue ridges
And the narrow, winding mountain pass
I am from the honey suckle summer
And hibernal winter

I am from great heights and craggy cliffs
I am from trickling auburn creeks
And plunging white waterfalls
I am from Sunday bells ringing
And the whippoorwill calling

I am from dense green
From the hardwood and the hemlock
I am from where the black bear roams
I am from the train whistle blowing around the bend

I am from the fiddle and the banjo playing
From voices of the hills hanging on the wind
I am from the land of my heart
I am from smoky mountains

I am from the departure
From a fading view
I am from beholding an evanescent presence
To an enduring memory

I am from the flight crossing the miles
I am from below the equator
I am from a land, a people, a foreign tongue unknown to me
I am from abroad

I am from red clay
And unpaved roads
I am from mosquito nets
From slate tiles at a jungle’s border

I am from the pilgrim mission
From the wayfaring journey
I am from long roads
From glorious sights
And places new to me

I am from a drive stretching hours
I am from a window view
Of a passing night
Of black silhouettes against black sky
And a chasing moon

I am from the arrival
From there and back again
I am from a new zip code
I am from luggage, scotch tape, and cardboard boxes

I am from persons and places for a season
I am from heretodayandgonetomorrow
I am from good byes

I am from finding fidelity in God
Constancy in family
And belonging beyond physical presence
I am from a body wandering
But a heart tethered and strung to roots buried deep beneath
I am from where I started

Spring 2020 Issue