I  am from Joanna and Bobby

I am from brown hair, and brown eyes

I am from Christmas stockings to mountains of

Dishes that were left for me to do

I am from broken hearts and town parks

I am from camping to not being able to go home

I am from jail calls twice a year

From the “I love you” and “I’m sorrys”

But it wasn’t love, love was hard

I am from not knowing their names

Temporary homes, temporary dads

Ones who hurt and ones who loved.

I am from 9 small dogs and oak trees

I am from papas sunday evenings

Which now we see his burial flag

Above grandma’s TV.

Mom was always there but

gone all at once.

Road trips and chips.

I am from no childhood pictures,

I’m sure he  feels better for throwing them all out.

I am from family gatherings that never lasted long.

Mom always told me I was beautiful and strong.

I am from those moments that I wouldn’t mind

forgetting.