From Lilacs and Holy Days

A Writing Exercise

This poem is the result of a writing exercise insprired by Jeannine Ouellette’s Writing in the Dark Substack. My words are based on the first thoughts that came from each line’s prompt contemplating a different aspect of where I am from. I am ever grateful for the supportive thoughts and suggestions from my friends, Andrea and Val.

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The Sexton’s Lilacs | Photo by Andrew J. Kettle

After Jeannine Ouelette

I am from hand-me-down clothes, from Cream of Wheat and Puffed Wheat cereal (off-brand, oversized bag, tasting of nothing).

I am from spring lilac bushes, whose puffy plumes blow butterfly kisses in the breeze and smell of purple pollen.

I’m from turkey at Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter and girls do the dishes.

From Margaret, Marguerite, and Mary Jo. I’m from Catholic schools and never say I love you. I’m from the silence of “some things are better left unsaid” and Marine Corps “if you are going to do something, do it right.”

I’m from mass every Sunday and Holy Day of Obligation and never question The Church.

I’m from a small Nebraska college town, microwave scrambled eggs and Sunday roast beef dinners.

From a mother of generational trauma who declared, “every family is dysfunctional, so just get over it!” From a mother whose final words whispered to me, “what if I haven’t been good enough to get to heaven.”

I’m from a higher spirit who doesn't believe in heaven or hell and looked her in the eyes and answered, “If you haven’t been good enough, there’s no hope for the rest of us.” Closing her eyes, she smiled expectantly.

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With loving wishes in remembering where you are from,

Amy