I am from a place that no longer exists,
Where making mud pies, and throwing cow patties was what we did for fun,
Where fear wasn’t a factor, and love was innocent,
Where I didn’t ponder my actions, and boundaries were never honored,
Where back talking to my father rendered a smack across my mouth,
Where tag was played with rotten eggs, and my brother was the cargo added in the bed of a Tonka truck,
I am from a past where pickled pigs feet, and mountain oysters were a treat,
Where I questioned if I was worthy of attention,
Where seeing the ocean was like visiting another country,
Where my siblings and I made straw bale forts, and trod upon our neighbors field of wheat for a game of hide and seek
Where I enjoyed my mother’s laughter, and feeling the embrace of her hug, and
Where I never contemplated consequences or karma,
I am from a past that no longer exists.
Trina Schartz Blog 