I finally wrote one of my own as well:
I am from the kitchen table.
From red-checked oilcloths and imitation blue willow plates.
I am from the trailer paneled in brown and carpeted in ’70s green,
Frayed, cozy, and smelling like fresh bread.
I am from paths through the towering weeds
Worn by my bare feet on my daily trek to the neighbor’s.
I’m from Beiler days and four-part harmony,
From Grossmommy Glick and Grandma Stoltzfus.
I’m from the work hard and do it right,
From the “turn the other cheek” and “don’t pity yourself.”
I’m from family devotions, Daddy reading Bible stories, and all of us kneeling in a row by the couch for bedtime prayers.
I’m from Germany and Switzerland,
Fresh-dug potatoes, garden green beans,
From the blue jays Grossmommy shot,
The car my little brother drove into her house.
In my mind I hold these memories,
The seeds of who I am today.