I am from the inviting town of Robinson, Texas.
I’m from the country music bouncing around my Uncle Bro’s farm.
I’m from the raw potatoes peppered with salt my older sister, Kat, and I munched on inside of the crystal blue kiddie pool of water at our neighbor’s house.

I’m from the late nights with my younger brother, older sister, and two of my cousins when Poptarts made the ideal dinner and Super Smash Brothers Melee was the game we played until our fingers begged us to take a break.
I’m from the stockings that hung freely at my grandparents house for the kids and adults alike that can never come around quick enough.
I’m from the towering Christmas trees of green with sparkling ornaments bright enough to light the world.
I’m from the warm park my mom and dad always took my siblings and I too.
I’m from the condos where family memories are always made, and never forgotten.

I’m from the singing voice of my father that he passed on to my sister and I.
I’m from the George Strait songs my dad always blasts through the car.
I’m from the country music lovers and shopaholics.
I’m from the strum of an acoustic guitar as my dad choruses and plays all of the best country music known to man.
I’m from my parents telling me to never give up and to always chase my dreams.

I’m from Dysinger and Parshall’s branch,
Lisa and Wayne,
country music and shopping.
The homemade rice krispie treats from my Nana, and the exquisite aroma of spaghettios.
I’m from the day I choked on a meatball and my dad saved my life,
the day I swore I’d never eat another one again at my tiny age of 2.
I’m from the swingset sitting in the backyard, taunting us as the rain would continue to fall like the clouds could not put a stop to their crying.
I’m from the bright, electric blue eyes my mom gave to my little brother, older sister, and I.

A box piling past pictures lies in my parents room.
Old photos graced with my baby face
and the younger ones of my mom, dad, and siblings.
I am from those enchanting moments,
still taking over my head.