Dancing and Remorse
and the softness of moss
I come from twirling batons
and basketball sized bullfrogs that were real,
from thick bricks of velveeta cheese and
fried, curled bologna sandwiches.
I come from the color green
and the way it means the woods are alive.
I come from the softness of moss on the rotting tree stump,
from the exotic trillium springing up
through the still-cold dirt on a warm spring day.
I come from beauty and conflict and love that sometimes broke
from standing too close to the edge.
From dancing and remorse.
Photo by Eva Yang on Unsplash
I come from birthday parties
with girly wrapping paper taped over little girl makeup
and walking dolls that were new in the box from my mother’s mother
who loved me with those gifts
and who revealed on her deathbed heart-crushing secrets
locked in the vault her whole life until they would no longer keep.
I come from an unkempt crowded kitchen with hardened eggs on plates
piled high in the sink
and from an urgent need to clean when someone visits
so they wouldn’t know we were dirty.
I come from my father’s mother
whose husband demanded sex every single day
and after many pregnancies and five living children
she found a way to stop the life of the last one
because six was too many
and she told us this story on a road trip to Branson
where she cried from too much joy
because Lawrence Welk was her favorite
and the show stole her breath.
I come from my handsome, charming father
whose work was blue collar,
from a woodworker who could have been a master
but instead probably drank beer while using the saw
without care
and cut his index finger off
because he didn’t know how good he could be.
I come from a mother who tried to do the right thing by us
and mostly did but sometimes didn’t
and it didn’t matter because we knew we were so, so loved.
I come from a mother who cried
when she was baptized in the Methodist church
at almost sixty years old
because it finally meant she was good.
I come from the Great Lake State of Michigan
by way of Alcais Lorraine and Eastern Europe
and from writers and artists and actors
whose genes beg me to express
and from the feeling that I’m born
from and for greatness.
I come from tender, fatty pot roast with
soft carrots, potatoes and onions
on Sundays
and from laughter and tummies full of happy.
I come from sweet chocolate cake oddly made of mayonnaise,
and lugs of Traverse City cherries.
I come from generations
of lovers
and achievers
and mistake-makers
and workers
and creators
who only ever did the best they could
because that’s how life works,
until we know how to do better.




love!!! Forgiveness is essential (I couldn't respond in correct place to your reply;)
This is amazing and enlightening as there are things about our grandma that I never knew until I read this. You have a great gift!!! Keep writing…..😘♥️♥️