Where I'm From | Heather Frese

Heather Frese

June 30, 2026 / 37:47/E44

Where I’m From #43

By Heather Frese

Inspired by George Ella Lyon

I am from cedar closets,

From Sun-In and orange Cheeto dust.

I am from the covered bridge in the park, paintworn, children rolling in the green grass underneath.

I am from the honeysuckle wafting along the rail trail whose goldensweet tendrils I remember as if they were my own.

I am from Sunday morning tennis matches, holding service on the court,

From Otto and Edna, Paul and Geraldine

I’m from the empaths and the artists and the man who put out fires,

From “you can’t push a rope but you sure can pull it,”

And “close the door; we don’t need to air condition all of Edgeworth Addition.”

I’m from the tallest steeple in town on the Methodist church—First United,

From the alps and the moors

From meatloaf suppers and homemade purple icy slush from the concord grapes on my grandpa’s trellis.

I’m from the woman who laundered the rich man’s clothes, so wet they steamed and steamed.

In a closet in Ohio, not a cedar one anymore, in plastic boxes and Rubbermaids, my pigtails yellow in the photos, scattering me across time.

Where to find Heather:

Where to find Alyson:

Alyson Shelton

Alyson is an award winning screenwriter and essayist.