I am from

the faded red walls, to the deep blue bunk beds, and paint chips, and scuffed maple panel.

I am from

the neighbors hacking down my one hundred year old oak, yet finding others to climb.

I am from

tricky Christmas mornings, of nameless presents preventing sneak peaks.

I am from

“you should always be waiting on me” and a red truck sounding like AC/DC, and smelling like dirt, and wet dog.

I am from

“smallest gets middle,” the smallest brother of two, and I’m not the smallest anymore…

I am from

feeling my mother’s stomach, like feeling a watermelon basking in the sun, waiting for the motionless lump.

I am from

video games with Jack, and Witnessing the world as a bat, upside down…

I am from

“sit up straight” and “no potty talk at the table” and “you little rascal.”

I am from

holding Mom’s hand on Sunday mornings, never letting the candle blow out on the walk up.

I am from

crash! Stitches and still playing.

I am from
saying “goodbye” to the faded red walls, to the deep blue bunk beds, and paint chips, and scuffed maple panel.