I wrote this poem based on the prompt of “I am from.” My dad was in textiles and we moved a lot - small Southern towns. I enjoyed moving. It was exciting to me. My mom nd sister did not share my enthusiasm.
I’d moved
six times.
Six tiny towns,
each with a textile mill,
sitting right on the edge
of what counted as
civilization
to me.
I was sheltered.
Kept safe from the world, but…
there were no walls thick enough
to escape the conflict inside.
The houses changed…
but the conflict?
It moved with us.
Settling in,
then packing up,
settling in,
packing up,
again and again -
well, it takes its toll on a marriage.
But then,
so do depression
and drinking.
Too bad that box
was always unpacked.
I learned to make friends quickly,
became an expert -
jump right in,
then let them go
just as quickly.
No time for tears.
Time to move on.
Next tiny town.
Next BIG adventure.
But my sister…
My older sister cried.
Each move was
a rupture in her life.
Every school
a beginning
she never wanted.
A new town
every year
of high school.
But for me?
I dreamed of new.
New school.
New friends.
New bedroom.
A new chance to be
someone…
new.
And in that new town -
maybe my mamma would be happy,
maybe my daddy would stop drinking.
Every move held that dream.
Then,
the moving stopped.
We settled
in a city
where carpet was king,
where acceptance meant
dressing up in wealth
and choosing friends
by the worth of their family names -
rules I had no interest in following.
My parents tried.
Golf games and bridge parties,
church every Sunday,
social clubs and country club.
But no matter how hard they tried,
the circle never opened.
They were never fully in.
And it was there,
my family
fell apart.
I wish we had moved again.
Poetry by Melinda K Zarate
Read 16 times
Written on 2025-12-04 at 22:21
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When Carpet Was King
By the time I started middle school,I’d moved
six times.
Six tiny towns,
each with a textile mill,
sitting right on the edge
of what counted as
civilization
to me.
I was sheltered.
Kept safe from the world, but…
there were no walls thick enough
to escape the conflict inside.
The houses changed…
but the conflict?
It moved with us.
Settling in,
then packing up,
settling in,
packing up,
again and again -
well, it takes its toll on a marriage.
But then,
so do depression
and drinking.
Too bad that box
was always unpacked.
I learned to make friends quickly,
became an expert -
jump right in,
then let them go
just as quickly.
No time for tears.
Time to move on.
Next tiny town.
Next BIG adventure.
But my sister…
My older sister cried.
Each move was
a rupture in her life.
Every school
a beginning
she never wanted.
A new town
every year
of high school.
But for me?
I dreamed of new.
New school.
New friends.
New bedroom.
A new chance to be
someone…
new.
And in that new town -
maybe my mamma would be happy,
maybe my daddy would stop drinking.
Every move held that dream.
Then,
the moving stopped.
We settled
in a city
where carpet was king,
where acceptance meant
dressing up in wealth
and choosing friends
by the worth of their family names -
rules I had no interest in following.
My parents tried.
Golf games and bridge parties,
church every Sunday,
social clubs and country club.
But no matter how hard they tried,
the circle never opened.
They were never fully in.
And it was there,
my family
fell apart.
I wish we had moved again.
Poetry by Melinda K Zarate
Read 16 times
Written on 2025-12-04 at 22:21
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text|
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