I am from rollerskating.

From the orange groves that spread across Orlando.


(Sticky, with a tang, the perfume glued to your fingers.)
I am from soul food and Independence,
From Italian wedding cookies.

I am from Duran Duran, and Prince;
Born from a boom box.
I am from Uncle Billy’s nose bleeds, that woke you up at the crack of dawn.

I am from Atari, and your love of Joe Elliot.
Are you there God? It’s me Margaret.
Neat freaks, and hijacking Grammy’s car.
I am from the mill; Vandermolen.
Dutch letters, and when you taught that teacher a lesson.
Grody to the max.

I am from playing outside until the streetlights came on.
When Grandpa bought those go-carts and cut you loose.
Kick ball, and that boy with braces... gag me with a spoon.






I am from riding your bike everyday to school.
Your fights with Aunt Rita, and when Uncle Brian drank nail polish remover.
Mark eyeing you in the rear view mirror.

In old photo albums, lay those memories.
Scribed down before this age.
The twinkle in your eye.
Snapped before I was budded--
Leaf-fall from the family tree.