I’m from Scarborough Maine,

I’m from Nani, John, and the little girl Emi

From aroma of the marsh grass

From the solitary cry of a loon in Rangeley.

I am from the the strange mummichugs that one would believe as fantasy.

I am from the vast expanse of ordinary,

And the white chalk of the baseball diamond underneath Scarborough High.

I am from the breakfast casserole,

From the “quick hide it under the table!”

I am from the ecstatic and unpredictable,

From random bliss

From random depression

From random nervousness

I am from the writing in the middle of the night when my parents think I’m asleep.

I am from “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you,”

And “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,”

And “You can run but you can’t hide.”

I am from my Ted Baker glasses

Who knows where he is?

Like where’s Waldo.

I am from rubber ducks

I’m from Heap and the walk.

What’s that, that creeps around the corner?

A drenched petticoat draped around its shoulders.

If I didn’t see it on TV I probably would have believed it.