Incomplete thoughts fill my mind when searching for my upbringing,

I remember

quiet streets, footsteps splashing through the puddles of darkness—

I remember

broken down white houses, paint chipping in worn out places.

Mom’s laugh echoes through the emptiness.

Patchy pieces pile through my head when trying to recall what life once was,

I remember

metal swing sets, creaking as you pump your legs—

I remember

fuzzy cats, warming my little hands while protecting myself from the clouds.

Grandparents accents muddled while decoding their hidden language.

Fragmented memories pull themselves together,

I remember

a plane ride, seven suitcases, and 100 pounds to our names—

I remember

new country, new opportunities, new views.

Cousins caringly come, cherishing every new chapter.

Undamaged recollection becomes more clear,

I remember

the sun, shining as we slide our stained socks through the sod—

I remember

wiping the sticky blue moon ice cream from the Chocolate Factory off my tanned chin.

Dad’s squinting eyes gleam like stars on a summer night.  

Complete thoughts fill my mind when searching for my upbringing,

I remember

neighborhood kids laughing and playing in the Wisconsin summer sun—

but,

I also remember

bleak and dreary nights of cuddling in the Wolverhampton rain.

Brother’s hugs comfort me every step of the way.