I am from art
The hidden piano in the corner
Singing through the house as darkness falls
The lights untouched, unremembered
As the keys to the tune are subconsciously recalled

I am from the soft fabric of a patchwork quilt
From well calloused fingers
Sewing together a family’s legacy
With loving and deliberate stitches

I am from the all too fast moving pages of a book
Fluttering like bat wings between my fingers
A good book, a deep book
That I’ve already been told to put down
Twice

I am from the life, the heartbeat of the marching band
Pulsing in the early morning hours
As I lie awake
Insomniatic
Dreaming of a day
When I will be one in its voice of many

I am from the sweetness in the back of my throat
The taste of rose petals that I smell in the garden
And I remember art
Is all around me in life and in everything

I am
The pencil
The pen
The paintbrush and canvas
The scratches on the paper
The words
The pictures
The thoughts and dreams
The reverie of past and hopeful future
The patchwork of a family
And I am only one of the artists.