I am from coffee mugs, from Lipton chai tea, and teapots.

I am from the swinging striped green hammock atop my patio. (The rough texture scratching your face when you lye on it.)

I am from the ever-green trees, the orange marigolds whose soft flower petals made your fingertips tingle.

I am from the annual branch held at my house to see all my relatives and eyeglasses

I am from watching television for hours with my family and having terrible asthma as a child.

From don’t do that and go to bed right now.

I am from Therefore offer prayer for your Lord and other verses I have yet to read.

I’m from Villanova and Pakistan, sweet cheesecake and boiled rice.

From the time my cousin got robbed of his phone in the middle of the street by two strangers, the cane my grandmother uses to keep herself mobile, and the countless packs of cigarettes my dad smokes per day.

I am from family albums lining the shelves of my mother’s closet, dozens of photos with forgotten friends captured and lost.

I am from those memories-

That helped me grow from a bud-

A leaf escaped from the family tree, lost in memory.