I am from travels across long and winding roads,  with musty clothes packed inside a tattered suitcase.

     From the lonely U.S. Navy sailor on shore leave and the USO singer looking to escape, I am the aftermath.

I am from Huguenot, number 327, with long dark halls where fear hid behind each door.

I am from constant disagreements and hurt from Strollo, artistic talents from Havens and depression…from Smith.

I am the sarcastic one of Lloyd Chester and ever-critical like Mary Patricia but not as hateful as Mary Agnes; I have Marjorie’s fleeting elegance but not her voice although I have Lee’s fingers guiding mine as I write while, sadly, I lack the music from his soul.

I am from kneeling in Catholic church until my knees were numb and my back ached from staying rigid.   From pain that was better than any punishment from the nuns who patrolled the aisle.

I’m from the poor shadows of decaying New Rochelle and the wealth of golden San Francisco.  Beef Stew and Pâté de Foie Gras.

                                                                                        

I am from Lilacs, briefly bursting with soft color and fragrance along with sand that washes into the ocean with every storm; I am from hindsight and wishing.  Always wishing.

I am from dreams of different beginnings; from gathering moments into boxes of forgotten memories labeled… Indifference,  Anger and Why? 

Mostly, I am an outsider, safely standing on the edges of my life, wondering.

From the Writer’s Workshop: Write a post based on the word genealogy./Write a post in exactly eleven (11) lines (sentences). 

I first wrote and shared this post way back in 2014 and there was nothing about it I wished to change for this current prompt response, nor did I want to write a new post.  My genealogy, its best and worst.

This reflects me; my beginnings and where I am at this point, still, in my life.