I am from shinguard tans
from flip flops and Stanford sweatshirts.
I am from the loft above the upstairs couch
(shallow, wooden ladder,
dangerous when leapt from.)
I am from ocean fog
and olive trees
whose black-stained branches
I may have fallen from.
I'm from smoothies and guacamole
from teachers and doctors
I'm from type A soccer moms
and sarcastic jokers,
from Work hard! and Do Your Best!
I'm from beach bonfire praise nights
amidst hippies and immigrants
guitars and hand motions in unison.
I'm from earthquake-safe houses,
broken speed limits, and the tackles of brothers
From neighborhood plays performed on front lawns,
The piano my Grandmother played after Sunday dinners.
Beside the front door hung a wreath
a spring harbor for birds,
generations programmed to return
little ones I can no longer protect from crows.
I am from these moments--
migrated from the nest
a bird innately drawn back to my origins.
(mimicking George Ella Lyon's "Where I'm From")
