I am from the melodious sound through rubber buds,
from the healing words of a pained artist twice my age.
I am from the ear pain sending me to the doctor,
I can't bare to quiet my music for a second.
I am from opaque windows of color,
spreading rainbows across the wall.
The roar of a grinder dulling piercing edges,
the blood of catching one twice my size.
A memory locked in the palm of my hand.

I am from the crack of a bat, I won’t hear for a week.
From scorching days of sliding on the ground to evade the out.
I am from coaching girls that dont take the game seriously,
playing in the dirt instead of scooping the ball from it.
I am from the light bounding off the Oconomowoc River.
It’s bright enough to blind the sun
The kayak being pushed so sharply it tips,
water rushing to fill before I can escape,
stealing the air from my lungs.

I am from those making truancy the norm.
From those too naive to raise two children.
I am from the brother turned to a stranger.
Those not smart enough to see what's going on.
I am from the clutter of books,
enough to escape reality.
The musty smell of aged paper and potpourri fill my nose,
a crinkle of a page each time it is turned.
Dim light through the stained glass turns the pages to pictures.