I am from particles, some may say shit. I am from a creation gone bad and no I’m not sad. Hey look, I’m just like you dad, a drug addict who lost all hope.
I am from a family of incest and molestation to a grown woman who is neither nice nor mean.
I am from 40-below cold, white birch trees and a fall October breeze.
I am from the flat land. I am from where the concrete ends and the river starts.
I am from, Ever in doubt you may come to me. I’m the kind of friend you need me to be.
I am from, Go ask your mom in the driveway, smoky mountain mushroom glaze, sister bossy, always trouble, passes anyway.
I am from fishnets and fish-wheels, moose head soup and filleting king salmon. I am from the Yukon River, from a very remote dead, silent village.
I am from the place where the fireweed grows freely, the children roam freely until dark. Who needs the park?
I am from a time and a place where families still stuck together, not turning their backs.
I am from the rocky beach where we all wear skinned knees.
I am from never knowing who my mother was until she passed.
I am from 8 kids, 1 1/2 parents, 3 grandparents where every christmas we got the same alike presents.
I am from where it smells like sea salt or water park, chlorine and vendor food.
I am from the broken and the sorrow, the bright promises of tomorrow.
A collective poem of the Fairbanks Correction Center’s Women’s Writing Worksop 9/9/19