I am from…
I am from pillows, from pictures and TV
I am from the emptiness, a rough past
I am from the rose, the big apple tree
Where apples fall from beneath.
I’m from bored games and brown eyes,
From mother and father. I’m from fighting
And yelling and from short height.
I’m from quietness and shyness and don’t
Be afraid to show your true self. I’m from
Corn hole, I’m from Ravenna and Robinson
Hospital.
Corn on the cob and baked potatoes from my
Own mom leaving my dad when I was 9, how
Could I ever forget the moment she walked out
The door.
The box underneath my bed with pictures of memory
And treasures being burned and floated away from the
Present.