from—

I am from the tiny sunporch turned teen bedroom hideaway,
from too much wood paneling and peach kitchen cabinents.
I am from the gray stucco corner house,
yard bursting with all of Pinzon Street’s leaves every autumn.
I am from the Irises that bloomed and apple tree that withered.

I am from early Christmas mornings waking first, then tip-toeing to brother’s bed while
blocking my own view of the bulging stockings, and
sugar cookies that melt-in-your-mouth every December.
I am from loud conversations filling Grandma’s house for every holiday we can gather.
I am from TGIF nights, “God is great, God is good, let us thank Him for this food,” and wooden spoons that weren’t always for stirring.

I am from “there’s no such thing as boredom,” and “say your prayers every night,”
and you are my sunshine even when the world is dark.
I am from dinner at the kitchen table, every night, always. Mom, Matt, Dad, Me,
a spotted pup click clacking on the tiles until someone silently sneaks her a piece.
I am from the Cola Wars, a product of peace. Clan Boyd and the Shire,
rhubarb roll full of summer gatherings and snickerdoodles that, despite being
a magazine recipe, still hold a secret ingredient no one can uncover.

I am from Shanghai around the table with a Dot who swore up and down we were holding cards,
when sometimes they just fell to the floor.
I am from glass jars of marbles, the Downy bear, a deer named Rupert who wore jingle bells around his antlers every Christmas,
and a sandbox that won every time I had to pick up leaves.

I am from love.