I am from tennis, from basketball and beach volley ball,
I am from many different coaches, yelling at us to “run faster you dang slugs!”
I am from the Walmart shop across town, traveling in and out of it’s electronic doors.
I’m from the earthquake, born during the madness of screaming people, emerging alive and unharmed.

I am from the hard life of the out-of-the-country people,
from Taiwan and Miami.
I am from the blown up kitchen, black char all over the stove, the orange and red fire erupting.
I’m from the smell of the industries, working nonstop for the hard communist life.

I’m from Libra, and the “September child” phrase, Chinese diabolo, and the looks of shocked faces.
From my grandfather’s lost battle to cancer, to the weeping sorrow of my aunt’s cries.
From the old hound that howls every night, to the tossed shoe from my neighbors yelling, “That oughta keep it quiet!”

Under the lost memories of old and young, hearts and sorrow are never forgotten,
a tangled mess of “good-byes” and “so longs” are too much to store away.
I’m from those charred memories, burned but not yet harmed, slowly cooking in the pot of “long known but never forgotten”.