I am from neatly stacked plates and bowls tucked in the cabinet,
from OCD and the vacuum lines on the carpet,
and from a closet organized by color and style.
I will be from dirty coffee mugs and silverware,
from a disarranged floor expressing stress and inabilities,
and from having a cluttered closet for two.
I am from “Text me when you get there,”
from “Drive safe, it’s snowing,”
and from “No you can’t go out right now, it’s eleven on a Thursday night.”
I will be from “See you at Thanksgiving,”
from “Hi Bear, how’s riding the light rail?,”
and from “You should go out and have fun, it’s only eleven on a Thursday night.”
I am from dusty, discolored Catholic school gyms filled with wins,
from the Starbucks and Butterscotch Lattes five minutes away,
and from the Kiltie trips including short drives with Dad and stacks of fries.
I will be from the newly renovated and equipment filled gym,
from the inability to afford Starbucks in the morning fatigue under my eyes,
and from the Kiltie and my dad absent.
I am from the heartbreak of missing Grey’s Anatomy on Thursdays,
From deafening sounds of family breakfasts on Sundays,
and from my best friend living down the street.
I will be from the sweaty, panicked sense of missing my mom,
from crowded, clammy, cafeteria-like breakfasts with my new friends on Sundays,
and from my best friend living five hours away.
I am from and will be from the softness of my collection of blankets,
from the energy of my love for blasting music,
from the bitterness of the espresso ice cream always in my freezer,
from the freeing feeling of running miles at the gym,
from the unknowns of my webbed toe,
from the willingness to learn in my CNA work,
from the high strung motivation of AP classes with “Smelling the rat,”
from the rewarding helpful feeling through mission trips,
and from taking the loving warmth of my home to Minnesota.