I’m from a hammock strung between two trees,
swaying effortlessly.
I’m from bonfires on summer nights.
(The flame feels like a fresh cup of brewed coffee in my hand.)
I’m from monthly visits to Grandma’s house
picking apples with her at the orchard,
apples changing color but remain the same.

I am from walks in the neighborhood and cheek dimples,
from clean rooms and family gatherings.
(Gatherings that not only happen around
the holidays but on the weekends.)
I am from people talking behind each other’s backs,
from taking the high road ---
even when the road appears to be bumpy.
I am from discovering new houses and school halls,
from making friends only to leave them behind.

I’m from a toy shopping cart flipped onto its side,
from the rock wedged in the wheel.
I’m from free falling down the driveway,
(The black road waiting to collide with my body like a pit of foam)
from the sound of a chin crashing down on the pavement.
I’m from a laceration,
from the glue that keeps it held together.

I am from those moments,
apples that change color,
only to remain the same.