I’m from saddles and sweet feed,
tractors, and rusted-out pickups.
I’m from driving before sixteen;
calves tied to domes;
galloping through cornfields
past houses of history—
warmbloods and British spies;
famous directors.
I’m from an Appaloosa’s lathered sweat,
swimming in the creek.
I’m from Ichabod Crane,
Stolichnaya and Kools,
grand national dressage teams,
“Jesus saves!”
and dinosaurs.
I’m from night terrors,
‘nice doctors’,
hunting caps and Playgirl mags,
starched white hats, syringes,
spelling bees,
and standardized tests.
I’m from our best hope for womankind.
Please learn math.
Be a model or just
look like one.
I’m from ramen and SPAM.
I’m part of this complete breakfast.
Wood Acres and Shirley Temples,
clogs, Chrysalis, and Mr. Hooper’s Store.
I’m from rural gay bars,
perms, and powder blue eye shadow.
I’m from a camper parked in
Jennifer’s driveway,
and girl scouts who call me,
“Lesbo.”
I’m from Enterprise and Challenger.
Fraggle Rock and Pitfall.
I’m from Buck Rogers on Colecovision.
Oh, those #%^&* pylons.
I’m from intimidation, perfectionism,
and fear of a heavy step.
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Dianthe West (she/they) is an art historian turned poet and fiction author, which was always the prize. Dianthe holds an MA from UC Riverside and lectured in visual culture for 14 years in the US and Canada. They live with their family, plants, four-legged familiars, and hundreds of grazing bunnies in Guelph, Ontario.
Being from the Midwest of the USA, I could relate to a lot of what this poet has shared. A lot of the references and whatnot are similar to what I experienced and witnessed or experienced growing up in northern Illinois. I enjoyed reading this poem.
Hi Christopher, Thanks so much for the comment.