I am from the pleasant sunlight that shone through my grandmother’s windows,
from the crisp yellow-orange leaf piles of autumn.
I am from the icy hill and snow crafted paths
from the races and jumps to spacious chilly caverns.
I am from wet shoes, chilly breath, and melting snow
from capture the flag, kickball and tag.

I am from the brisk air of the moving van.
I am from the hours of practice,
from the clink of chains and snap of the wrist,
I am from tournaments, mosquitoes, and 80 degree heat.
I am from blacktops, walls, and sore arms.
From the balls I hit too far.

I am from the thousands of hours spent at my desk,
from homework, drawing, and writing papers.
I am from the grease and sweat.
From bolts fused into shocks
From cars, brakes, rotors, and struts,
From wires, fuses, and hoods that won't shut.

I am from bruises and cuts, from burns and breaks,
I am from slips and scrapes
From bandages and casts
I am from the door that closes exceptionally fast,
From the dresser that's consistently in the wrong place.
to the worn slippery handle of the black kitchen knife.