by: Megan Briggs
I come from washed out wranglers and rugged brown boots
From sweet tea and fried pickled okra
I come from that “not-so-good” neighborhood
From greyhounds running lose and
Wal-Mart seems just a step away
I come from the eyes of the Birds of Paradise
From swaying palm trees
And the stench of cow pastures making my nose scrunch
I come from the Tidmores and the Briggs
From my grandpa who I never knew
From the “don’t make me get the paddle” and the
“Bobby don’t teach them that”
I come from freezing winter and sizzling summer nights of Seng High Rum
And an adopted aunt
From the emeralds that hold my memories of my granny
From the tombstone of my aunt I will never meet
From the old wooden house where once my Great Grandmother bartered with Indians
I come from slammed doors and broken glass
From the fights and the divorces and the tears and the pain
From my great uncle I won’t be able to share memories with because of a still born birth
From the baptism and confirmation
Where I became a true Lutheran
I come from mama’s hope chest where our ancestors are kept inside
From the shoeboxes of pictures especially the snapshots of my great
Grandmother and Father dancing under the moonlight
From the home videos of sweet 16’s and 15 year anniversaries
I come from all of this…
My name is Megan Briggs and I am a Florida native born and raised here in Bradenton. Living in a somewhat small town, growing up everyone knows everyone and I know a lot of people can relate to my poem about my life and “Where I Come From”. The poem is about little memories I have from my childhood, and also about family traditions. I come from a southern raised family, where family value and morals are beaten into your head until you got it. I enjoyed writing about my life and everything I can remember as a small child because it puts everything in perspective.