I’m from stuffed animals,
An aged alligator who never left my chubby toddler hands,
Who now rests in a bin somewhere.
I am from laughter,
From gripping my gut as my grandpa laughed with me.
I’m from the water,
From the pool in my backyard and the dirty lake I splashed in,
From the very first time I drove a boat,
And learned to scuba dive under the salty waves.
I’m from the cold,
My cheeks and nose bitten pink like roses,
Days spent sliding down snowy hillsides,
From flying down the slopes in a plastic rocket.
I am from Petey and Will,
Who never had a dime for themselves, but made sure all of their kids were protected.
I am from David’s jokes and Linda’s advice,
Who kept my wisecracking and rule-following traits in check.
I am from the stiff parchment pages,
That I drag my pencil across,
To make worlds of my own from my imagination.
I’m from late nights spent under a blanket,
Holding a flashlight when I’m supposed to be asleep,
To just finish one more chapter.
I’m from movies,
Disappearing into worlds like a time traveler disappears into time.
I am from a family tree,
With branches broken, snapped, and left for dead,
But somehow form a beautiful picture.
I am from a stained glass window,
Hundreds of broken pieces coming together,
To form something greater.