I am from crayons
from Bedhead and Beethoven
I am from the washed-out red bricks on Tennessee
It was once full but is now empty
I am from the tangerine trees, the palm leaves, long and wispy fingers that brushed my shoulder as they fell
I’m from the birthday dinners and Sunday donut day
From Daryl and Darren and Dawn
I’m from the absent sound of silence and the land of broken hearts
From the Kylie Duppy’s and the love you, miss you, bye’s
I’m from Sunday masses, singing my heart out with my hands opened wide
I’m from good ole Orleans, livin’ the Irish-Italian life
From the brothers who fought with real ninja swords and death stars
And the 12-year-old girl who threw her unwanted pancakes behind the stove
Hidden in boxes, underneath the overused holiday decorations
Were the moments of happiness and fun, of goofy smiles that are forever engrained in my mind
I am from the family of joy and sadness, resentment and forgiveness, and I will always be the shy little girl with long black ponytails waiting for the day when all will come to a quiet hush