I am from immeasurable clay pots filled with flowers of
a hundred distinctive shades of pink
outlining the path to our front door.
From residing in an exclusively white and maroon interior
that my friends say looks straight out of a magazine
with a focal piece of an unnecessarily large mirror
resting against a wall in our living room.
I am from the laughs shared between my favorite sister and I,
always about trivial nothings we can’t keep calm about
and the pictures with grey slate frames on every ledge of my home
snapshotting these memories.
I am from cozy Saturday mornings
and sipping black coffee
while watching the quiet sky from my balcony.
From strapping on heels for afternoon brunch,
and taking pictures on river walks and in front of vintage buildings.
I am from midnight drives in my best friend’s car
with the windows rolled down,
while we waste time driving through silent cities.
I am from “either do it correctly or not at all”
and to be present until smiles are shared.
From an acquired instinct to tuck in the piece of hair that won’t stay put,
especially on early Sunday mornings before church
to keep my mother’s sophistication documented in my childhood town.
I am from the flawless and faulty moments in between
and the lessons, laughs, and late nights
in the house with the flowers of a hundred distinctive shades of pink.