I am from candles with dinner,
From boom boxes and CD’s,
Trips to Grandma’s house,
With hot chocolate and marshmallow fluff every night,
The familiar poodle sitting always at the base of her stairs,
Made completely of stone,
Forced to never move again.

I am from a newspaper ad and a wine glass,
Four parents and six grandparents,
Long trips to provincetown,
Singing “This Lake is Your Lake”,
Salty air and rocky sand.
I am from Thanksgiving chit chat,
From constant laughter and smiles,
And the clinking of pots and pans.

I am from fiddle tunes and misunderstandings,
From little people living in Bonsai trees,
Forests and forests of broccoli.
I am from soft grey fur,
Cans of cat food being peeled open,
And that strong rancid scent it leaves behind.
I am from a pink raggedy blanket,
A clearance sale sacred bunny,
And my mother singing before bed.