I Am From a House in the Mountains
By Jillian Grimsley
I am from a house in the mountains
Where leaves never stay the same color long,
Sweet tea is always in the fridge,
And front porches are rarely empty.
I am from a house that was the picture of Southern hospitality,
Where black shutters batted like Scarlett O’Hara’s eyelashes,
Where lush green hanging ferns sheltered the fragile lives of baby birds
Where the white wicker porch swing rocked in time
With the lazy rhythm of watermelon afternoons.
I am from a homemade house
Dinner’s on the table at 6:00 house
It’s not a dinner unless you have three side items house
Fresh corn and green beans and hashbrown casserole house
Leave room for a piece of cream cheese pound cake house
A house my mom filled as full of food as she did with love.
I am from a house full of strong women
A home where the girls outnumbered my dad four to one –
Five to one if you count Lucy the yellow lab
Katie loved her Barbies, Erin loved her stuffed bear in the pink pajamas
I loved to fix their hair, paint their nails, boss them around
and pretend I was their mommy.
I am from a house where the empowered sounds
Of the Dixie Chicks and Shania Twain taught me that I have a voice
Where choppy chords from my first Fender guitar took shape
At first behind my closed bedroom door
Then a requirement at every family gathering and holiday.
I am from a house that watched me learn
All about American History and Calculus and The Count of Monte Cristo
How to serve a volleyball over the net in the backyard
To never wait by the phone for a boy to call
To put your own plate in the dishwasher after dinner.
I am from a house that included held hands and blessings before meals
Nighttime prayers, Bible verses on the dashboard of the car
An I know the plans I have for you declaring kind of home
A foundation that I’ve built my life upon.