I am from tree houses,

from Barbies and Snuggle.

I am from the cul de sac in the country.

Tranquil, vibrant, it looked like painting.

I am from the hydrangeas,

the kumquat trees

their fruit dense and sour.

I am from the cousins photographs and loud voices

from Hugo and Cindy and Bev

I am from the afternoon coffees

and eating too much junk

from “I’m counting to three” and “I love you sweetie”

I’m from nightly prayers,

Jesus’s cross traced on my forehead.

I’m from Hammond and the bayou,

roast and mashed potatoes.

From the alligator my uncle wrestled

the Guatemalan home my grandfather fled.

Tucked inside the armour, photo albums rest

memories organized as a book, waiting to be re-lived

I am from these treasured moments,

from photos that will never fade.