I come from… 

I come from the loins of one known as Lucy who hunted and gathered on the banks of the Awash (ah-wash) River in Ethiopia long ago, close to the water, giver of life to all mankind. 

Her children moving outward to the corners of the earth,  but rooted there, in that place.

I come from the Cherokee, red-skinned natives, one with nature, living in unity with e-lo-hi-no*.

Their land stolen and children killed by those who claimed to own the world.

I come from the Emerald Isle, place of magic and deep despair. Crossing the ocean to the new world dream. 

One of the poor, the tired, the huddled masses, I yearned to breathe free.

I come from Virginia slave-holders who saw brothers and sisters as property to be bought and sold never understanding the bloodlines shared.

I come from the hillbillies of Appalachia.

Misty moonshine upon my tongue.

Fiercely independent, walking mountain paths where freedom lives in every breath.

I come from those who mined the coal to make others rich. Working in darkness for pennies a day. Digging deep dark seams of coal, no blacker than the grime that outlined wrinkles on work worn faces.  

I come from northern factories, places of rust and cold winter wind where my people searched for a better world.

I come from the schools, colleges and universities. 

A person of learning, enlightened, compassionate.

I have returned to the river, the mighty Apalachicola, my Awash,  giver of life.

Lucy, marveling at the stars of long ago, pondering her place in the universe.

Lucy would be fulfilled.  

* Cherokee for “earth” provided phonetically  

From the mountains of West Virginia to the shores of Apalachicola, Jerry Hurley, 71, is a retired elementary principal, author of short stories and plays and a published poet. “I enjoy writing poetry. The economy of words to express a wealth of thoughts is both challenging and intriguing.”