Buick Audra

Where I’m From #24by Buick AudraInspired by George Ella LyonI’m from things I didn’t get to chooseLike mango groves and Southern rootsThe latter of which, I found out by looking onlineI’m from water ballet in Pelican LakeMy cousin Er was other long legsOur grandmother couldn’t quite see us, so we danced for her earsI’m from many church basements in the suburbs of BostonSmall Styrofoam cups and hot bitter coffeeI sat with the other kids who knew all the Steps by heartI’m from forest green platforms, with gills like the carOwned by my aunt Nancy, kindred from the startshe still says, “I’m proud of you, Bu” each time that we speakI’m from courage one minute and fear in the nextThe twist in the back, the ache in the neckI’m from “sorry” when I haven’t done anything to be wrongI’m from sunshine so bright, the brain can’t adjustFrom lizards and Banyan trees, Southeastern gustsThe air and the palms call me back, but I rarely goI’m from harmonies sung by my mom and her sisterFrom ego that injures and claims not to miss herIt’s none of my business, but I feel it there under my skinI’m 10 Preble Gardens and Chicago Point RoadOld 147 th and Coconut GroveA quilt of locations I’ve been stitching all of my lifeI’m from Buick and Boey, or “Boick” and “Bu”From lessons in love and just who is whoAlike and so very different, my brother and meI’m from choirs and girls and French braids in dressesFrom what friendship means outside of our tressesThe sounds of our voices as they became one for a timeI’m from words and guitar parts, and wild disappointmentFrom jealousy, hurt, and quick bursts of enjoymentThe balance is one I don’t strike, but I ride on two wheelsI’m from Punk clubs and venues, obsessed with dead menI don’t care much now, and I didn’t care thenI have looked all my years for the women and held up their lightI’m from melodies—mine, and the ones that are sentFrom loud rigs and rhythms that aim to offendI carry the pressure of all the females who were firstI’m from what I inherited and what I did notI belong to myself; I own what I’ve gotThe blood and the bone and the rasp of my one given voiceAs the narratives grow and the characters fadeI stand by the music and choices I’ve madeIt is the work of my life to be fine with who I have been.Where to find Buick:Website: https://www.buickaudra.comWhere to find Alyson:Website: https://www.alysonshelton.comSubstack: https://whereimfrom.substack.comInstagram: https://www.instagram.com/byalysonshelton