I am from books, from Band-Aids and Dt. Dr. Pepper.
I am from the faded, green turtle sandbox I only played in once
and had to use as a burial ground.
From the overflowing pantry of opened Kraft Mac and Cheese boxes
all mysteriously missing the cheese packets.
From the hardly used swing set with out a swing.
I am from the wildflowers, the weeds.
I am from the rain, the rust.
I am from two Christmases and born with blue eyes,
from Jeff and Jill and June and Ron.
I am from the nail-biters, the stay up late to watch dad play video games,
the insomniacs, from don’t sass back
and there was an angel watching over you that day.
I’m from Catholics who don’t go to church, but will still preach every Sunday.
I’m from trying to comb my hair with a fork and becoming the next Iron Chef.
I’m from Czechoslovakia, from red hair, high heels, spatulas, and video game controllers.
From the time my mother ran her car into a flower shop the first time she drove it,
and the younger sister who is already taller than me.
I am from Disney World, from several journals never used past the first page,
from bags upon bags of photos with yellowed edges.
I am from my photo albums,
saved on my computer and the books sitting on my desk.
The dreams I lived and memories
captured in their highlight in simple photographs.
I am from alternative and Frank Turner and Aeroplane and Yellow.
I am from hundreds upon hundreds of downloaded files and CD’s
and several pairs of headphones with blown out speakers and a hoarse throat.
I am from the family battling illness
but always surrendering to victory.
I am from the dried ink upon paper that travels the world,
the several separate lives on television that I mimic in my own,
and from the dark, dark sky with more stars than thoughts while I sit on a lawn chair,
a cold drink in hand and the heat from a bonfire flickering across my face.
I am myself caught in time,
one day, then another and onward.