Where I’m From

I come from the crack that the white ball makes 
When it scatters the colored balls 
Over the green felt looking 
For a pocket down 
At Lee’s Game Room. 
Those same colored balls 
Now scattered by city streets 
Become the neighborhoods 
Where we all live. 

I have heard the pent up desires 
Of the men who played those games; 
I have watched their money 
That wasn’t supposed to be there, 
And their dreams that always were 
Change hands. 

In my town Hope is an uphill climb 
On a dead end street that ends 
At a Jewish cemetery 
Abandoned. 
The Jews have all scattered 
In another diaspora 
But they left their names 
Like Moayon and Bradshaw, 
Hayes and Howell. 
I visit our version of Easy Street 
A stubby little street four houses long 
But no one knows where it lies 
Or how to get there 
But the mailman 
And the property tax assessor. 

Hope that dead ends 
And Easy Street a stub end 
And all the many streets and lanes, 
Courts and avenues, 
That take us all to work and home, 
To food and fun, 
To here and there; 
They all are where I’m from.

I come from the churches that spire the town, 
The black churches, the white churches 
Who worship the same God 
With the same sincerity 
And the same hymns 
By the same choir of voices. 
I have heard the same prayers whispered 
From all those mouths 
In the chapels of earnestness 
With faith that someone will hear. 

I come from the same winter houses 
That smell strong of Kerosene 
Breathed in by the young and old, 
By dog and cat, 
By sick and well. 
And the sirens that come to the houses of those 
Whose heaters ran dry or whose clothes caught fire 
Hoping to stay warm. 

I come from those places and many more 
Including this one special place where 
As I cross the bridge over the Little River 
I look down to see some large fish 
Holding steady in the current 
As the river flows away; 
I come from that emblematic fish 
Steady in the current 
Seeking always to drag it away. 
I hold myself in this place like the fish 
Because where I’m from is who I am.