i am from the neighbor boy in second grade,
bb pellets scattering the sidewalk,
a broken tree limb in our backyard.
the girl who shared the same interests as me:
horses, theatre, heartthrob of the week,
but was vicious and cold,
her cruel heart showing me the burden of spite.
and the boy sprinkled into my life
like the snow falling at his birthday party, december 29th.
(i think he was turning nine.)
a brilliant concoction of his father’s passion, his mother’s spunk.
there was mother’s crisp tongue and final say
to show her dedication to the idea of strict parenting,
yet it contrasted with occasional tender moments
and her passion for british crime dramas.
father, with his scruffy shadow and heavy bags
under his eyes; yet his smile
lit up the whole room, and his imagination
transformed every supermarket trip into a fantastical adventure.
or the director of the local children’s theatre
with hair as fiery as her attitude.
we shared late nights together, mentor and student,
as i soaked up her knowledge and passions for performing.
when i was fourteen, i brought all of these people with me
up north to a new house, new town, new life.
nevertheless, the imprints of people last forever,
and these are the ones that define where i am from.