I am from Forest Drive,

the street lined with trees,
from the woods that fill my backyard,
creaking and swaying with the wind.

I am from the secret room beneath the stairs,
the blue walls covered in messy drawings,
whispering with my brothers,
hiding from Mom.

I am from the raspberry patch that stained my hands pink,
the one my dad and I pick on July mornings,
wearing bee masks and oversized pants,
sharing the extras with next door neighbors.

I am from my mom’s pink water bottle,
the one my brothers and I fought over
used as a makeshift microphone,
having pretend concerts in the car.

I am from the “kick hard, run fast, have fun” line,
the one my mom uses before my games,
a smile forming on my face,
followed with “I love you.”

I am from the honey barbecue wings after home soccer games,
the lucky booth my teammates and I shared,
(the first one on the left, number 83),
cracking jokes and making memories.

I am from new adventures,
the neverending desire for fun
looking ahead,
yet never forgetting where I am from...

I am still from the street lined with trees,
from the woods that fill my backyard,
creaking and swaying with the wind
I am from Forest Drive.