Surrounded by cornfields–
Children of the corn,
That’s the joke at the school.
They can’t wait to leave this place,
To dust off their roots
And plant them elsewhere.
They want to scream:
“I AM NOT THIS TOWN!”
But all they manage is:
“This ain’t me.”
But, all along, knowing
That the country air made them
All the while knowing
That the world is huge and scary
And that the corn and cows and open spaces are safe.
We are what we are born
And we become what shapes us,
Even the things we don’t like,
Even the things we want to escape.
And I come from what so many envy
Except the people who don’t know how lucky they are.
I come from the wind through grass as it grows,
And rusty tractors on the side of the road.
I come from the sunlight fresh in the dew,
And from cars cruising at night when there’s nothing to do.
I come from animals calling and mewling at dawn
And I come from old toys that litter the lawn.
I come from late night little league games
And the usual small town, everyone-knows-ya’ fame.
I come from the roots, from the trees, from the earth–
I come from the place where Nature gave birth.
I come from people and sounds and hopeless dreams lost–
I come from the grit that pushes ahead, no matter the cost.
I’m surrounded by cornfields, yes, but that’s not what I see:
I see roots that are strong and people who are free.
So make your jokes, roll your eyes, and set yourself a part
It seems to me this Middle of Nowhere is a great place to start.
Copyright Sarah Davidson 2020