I am made of the house,

on the corner.

The one with grass

that magically turns yellow during winter,

it is not dead while it still

breathes and lives,

and will return in the spring along with the sun.

I am made of my up north,

the twisty dirt roads

that make every drive seem like an adventure,

the fawns that are not frightened by our presence

but just stare and go back to their day,

the rye field where when I was a little girl

I collected the purple flower buds,

the carved in signature of my grandfather on the wood

that still remains nailed to the wall.

I am made of “I love you”s

and playful “shut up”s.

I am made of the not so nice things too

like the dirty clothes on the floor

that are like heavy weights

I am not strong enough to move

so they linger until I can muster up the strength,

like the long restless nights when you are stuck

staring at the wall but you cannot tell if it is the wall or not

because of the deep dead darkness,

and don’t forget the awkward silences, you can't,

they are like an itch you cannot reach.

But none of those compare to the good things

like burning candles around the house

the ones that smell of cranberries and pine,

i’m with the angel on top of the Christmas tree

putting it up every year not ever wishing it was a star.

I am made of warm sweatshirts in the chilling evening

and the hot sand stuck to the bottoms of your feet during the

long days of sweet summer.

Most importantly I am made of people,

the love of my life,

my real family and my “real family”,

my friends and my “friends”.

They all make me who I am.

But most importantly I am mainly made of love,

that will always be my greatest strength.