I’m from lightning bugs

and dimly lit baseball games

From stray rabbits

and nests made from fallen moss

(full of red bugs, making me itch)

I’m from gospel music

and the smell of rotting wood in a barn

I am from sunrises and baking sheets

From “mauvelous” colored shapes

and monotone drawings

From small cold-blooded friends

From new companions

and tears falling too quietly

From ecstatic hellos and whispered goodbyes

I am from the smell of Sharpie ink

I’m from scraped knees, muddy front porches,

and missing teeth in uneven smiles

I am from velvet curtains and tiny feline friends

From small fists bumps

From Veggie Tales and Doritos

I’m from Norwegian sweets and
Native American delights

I am from small designs on flared dresses

and feathered headbands

Small boxes full of tiny trinkets

and dolls dipped in wax

made up every evening

as I waited for my father to return home

after yet another long night of overtime.

My mother would sit and braid my hair,

telling me to hush my worrying.

I am from these moments, breathing deeply

because soft reassurances calmed me

more than the sound of a car coming to a stop

in our driveway.