<\/p>\n\n\n\n
WHERE\nI COME FROM<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Donna\nDufresne<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n I\ncome from a place where you can hear <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n The\ntap, tap, tap of the milkman\u2019s boots on a cement walk<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n And\na whistle fading into the dawn<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Telling\nme my father has gone<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Into\nthe world of working men<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n I\ncome from a place where the screen door slams<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n And\nshakes the walls<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n As\nmothers step out upon<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Their\npea-shucking porches to call<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n And\nwe scurry like tiny denim insects<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Out\nof secret places toward the light of home<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n I\ncome from a place where bloodlines run hot through my veins<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n And\nwe are still fighting those Indian wars <\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Even\nas our skin begins to fade<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n And\nmy grandfather\u2019s baseball bat stands<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n In\nthat corner by the door<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Waiting\nfor someone who will dare to cross that line<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n I\ncome from a place where women pin their dreams on clotheslines hung just so<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n A\ncolor code of hope all washed up and tidy<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n And\nyet you know<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n There\nmust be more to life than this<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n When\nyou rub your nose deep into crisp cotton sheets<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n That\nremind you of the bluest of summer skies<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n I\ncome from a place where men work hard and close to the earth<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Their\nsweat smelling of diesel fuel and the piston grease of tractors<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n And\nyou know that they have pulled themselves<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Up\nby their bootstraps every day of their lives<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Because\nthey have told you so at the end of the day<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n By\ntheir silent, vacant smiles<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n I\ncome from a place where you can eat off the floor<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n In\na kitchen wrapped in ivy wallpaper<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n That\nhides the angry-fisted walls that were too thin to begin with<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n And\nthe warm earthy scent of baked beans and brown bread<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Dances\nwith my grandmother\u2019s dandelion greens dug up with a fork<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n And\nset to boil with salt pork<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n On\nthe back of a kerosene stove.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n I\ncome from a place where my grandfather\u2019s inventor hands<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Have\nfashioned the tools on which factories ran<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n And\nSunday is a day for church and baseball on the radio<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Which\nfloats through that watermelon curtained house<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Like\nhis dreams<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n Oh,\nhis dreams of what he might have been<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n OH,\nOUR DREAMS OF WHAT WE MIGHT HAVE BEEN<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" WHERE I COME FROM Donna Dufresne I come from a place where you can hear The tap, tap, tap of the milkman\u2019s boots on a cement walk And a whistle fading into the dawn Telling me my father has gone Into the world of working men I come from a place where the screen door … <\/p>\n