I am from pine trees and fresh air.

Sitting on the dock dangling my feet over the edge,
jumping into the water to feel a rush on my skin,
igniting sparklers to glow alongside the bonfire.

I am from the secluded white house across from the river.

The porch with the green railing where I daydreamed on sunny days,
the chalked-covered driveway, hands, and clothes,
splashing in the swamp puddles after fresh rainfall.

I am from childhood exploration and curiosity.

The bin of decades-old bottle caps we traded and collected,
the small, dim attic with a disco ball and trap door,
the red rocket swing where we played pretend.

I am from life lessons and comforting words.

“You don’t light a candle with a blowtorch.”
“If I could live to see you walk down the aisle, then I’ve lived long enough.”
“Whatever’s meant to happen, will.”

I am from my father’s rock and roll roots, and creating my own sound.

The Free Birds, American Pies, and Sweet Emotions that inspired,
calloused fingertips from hours of plucking the steel strings,
eleven songs mine, one a tribute to Jefferson Airplane.

I am from learning to love.

When we snuck out at night and he kissed me atop the playground,
from the heartbreak and sorrow of losing my first love,
to where I am now: wiser, stronger, but still young and wild.

I am from the fresh air, the secluded white house, the exploration and curiosity, the life lessons, rock and roll, and love.

The past that shaped who I am,
that will guide my future with wisdom and grace,
the accumulation of me is thanks to where I am from.