I Am From

I am from boxes hiding beneath my bed,
From kindergarten Halloween photos,
And seashells from the beaches of Maine.

I am from jean scraps and pieces of cloth,
Sewn together again into one.
From doors covered in comics and stickers,
And notebooks of doodles on the floor.

I am from my grandparents who taught me to be happy,
My aunt Andrea who can always make me laugh,
From photographs of relatives that have blood in my veins,
And were born more than one hundred years ago.

I am from the scent of tomato leaves,
And the striking light of sunflowers in mud,
Memories of turtles made with dirt and water.

I am from the crooked pinkies my father passed me,
From my toes with an angle to match.
From Dacci, Desqua, and Julietta, whose names cover my thoughts down on paper,
And from books of old age, horror, fantasy, and mystery that sit waiting on my shelves.

I am from red corner and helicopters that fall from Dave's tree over the red fire hydrant in autumn,
From snow angels made in crisp white at dusk,
From picking tulips for my teachers in spring,
And from puddle stomping in fresh rains of summer.

I am from phone numbers scribbled on report cards,
From my mom's vampire romances on the hamper and floor,
From "Check in," "Be safe," and "I love you."

I am from candied yams, popcorn balls, and Friday night pizza,
From games of Rummikub, Monopoly, and Scrabble.

I am from my experiences in my life,
From the people,
From the places,
From the memories,
From the sensations.
I am from the world.