one a southern belle adored by her husband, who crossed her ankles and never wore jeans, the other a smoking, foul-mouthed survivor, mother at 13 and widow at 20 From the elegant and the practical, the handy and the efficient Handlebar mustaches and Santa suits I’m from the right and wrong side of the tracks the elephant and donkey living in domestic harmony Union and Confederate farmer and prince slave and charlatan indentured servant and grapefruit inventor hidden Cherokee and Scottish clansman I’m from being the baby and only girl, and holding my mother’s hand as she took her last breath giving my dad my breath while he laid on the floor in the terror and pain of the widow maker’s arms changing of my grandmother’s colostomy bag the unwanted advances of someone I was supposed to trust the cold disapproval for never measuring up to being a lady I am from the stories handed down and the pictures held sacred the connections across generations and the hope for what will come.
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