Origins

Origins

I am drinking green tea from China,

bought from a Polish bulk foods store,

seasoned with cinnamon from an Indian grocer,

sweeten with Michigan honey

while I scribble with a Holiday Inn pen

obtained in Spring Lake, Michigan,

but probably made in Taiwan.

I am from Grosse Pointe

and Detroit, Michigan,

but also Terre Haute, Indiana.

Not the city, but the scruff along

the edges, the dust and the single

room shanties that dot rows of corn

bringing with them Ford trucks

and Larry Bird paraphernalia.

I am not from the city,

or the country, but somewhere

nestled in between.

The dialects of each generation

melt to form the language

farm to city to suburb

zink, sink

sal-ary, celery

drawel, pause

nasal vowels

forgotten consonants

voices in harmony

timeless, homeless cacophony.