I am from warm coffee mugs,

from popeyes and tony’s.

I am from the black porch

that distinguishes my home from other’s.

I am from the gardenias,

the magnolia trees,

whose wilted white leaves remind me of my origin.  

I’m from sunday evening dinners

and warm brown eyes.

from Peggie and Ronald and Arthur.

I’m from the warm welcomes

And the stay out lates.

From clean your room, Mrs. Wendy is coming!

And close the door, where you raised in a barn?

I’m from vigil masses,

Joining hands for prayer and rejoice.

I’m from Hungarian and French roots,

coffee cake and beignets.

From the scar on my brother’s head

after horseplay near the brick.

The crooked pinky from my father’s injury.

In the heat of my attic,

vibrant pictures of people I love and those I will never know,

Lie in a large mahogany chest.  

I am from the images that may fade,

But the memories that will live in my heart.