I’m from summers so hot they prickled from heat,

Winters so cold they froze.

I’m from the four seasons,

Everchanging, ever-growing, like the trees in my yard.

I’m from the fallen plums

Still sweet from the tree.

From the long vines of the weeping willow,

Its branches weeping over empty halls.

From a house so big, yet so small, the long halls filled with silence.

Unbroken.

 Only by the chime of the clock.

Time slowly ticking by.

I’m from the clock that told my fortune,

Win or lose, that clock never lied.

Always keeping score,

To the last millisecond.

I’m from the bitter sent of filtered chlorine

A mocking reminder of failures and broken dreams,

Long forgotten by its host,

Who once held them so dearly.

And in that sent, resides,

                                              The sound of the crowd crashing over me like waves

From the long hours of dusk till dawn, trading sleep for sweat,

The desperate race for perfection.

I’m from a blended home;

Where the cold wintery days smelling so fresh and sweet

Meet the scalding hot days,

Tasting like gelato dripping from its cone.

I’m from the sharp blue of sky and brown of bark

From the blonde of wheat and brown of almond

From the long-limbed willow and the stout limbed crimson spire oak.

I’m from the olive branch of skin and cherry of smiles.

I’m from long fancy dinners

As tedious as my mother’s lectures.

From “don’t do that” to “go find something to do” to “I don’t have time”

I’m from the boredom only an only child can know.

I’m from long waits at school

Long days at home,

Sitting by the window sill, waiting,

Always waiting.

Waiting for a kid to play with,

Waiting for a ride,

Waiting to drop time to make it to states,

Waiting to grow up.

I’m from a big empty house

 down eagle meadow court.