Where I'm From

I am from fruit cordial, from Weet-bix and sunburnt holidays at a dolphin-friendly bay.

I am from a fibro bungalow, lavender-light walls on a street named for love, heavenly jasmine punching the air in evening September showers. 

I am from eucalyptus, tall and strong; from orange blossom and frangipani blooming in the backyard, competing side by side.

I am from rummy and stubbornness, from Chris and Jenny, and the best grandmother of all.

I am from memorised repeats of Fawlty Towers, and secretive books tucked under pillows .

From 'you're too honest for your own good' and 'you can be whatever you want.'

I am from no place of worship, with a fierce sense of right and wrong.

I’m from Sydney and Northern Europe, meals devoid of ethnicity, and passionfruit-drizzled pavlova.

From young newly-wed parents, the remarried grandfather who refused to know me, and the widowed grandma who loved me times a million.

I am from yellowing round-cornered photos on sticky-lined pages, contained within crinkling plastic;  glossy black '70s vinyl LPs, encased in worn sleeves from another era; stories buried in chests, their keys discarded, the things that are unsaid yet somehow defining.

Mama's Losin' It

This piece was motivated by my lovely friend Angie's post at The Little Mumma. She had been inspired by this writing prompt over at Mama's Losin' It.