I am from the rich brown, upright piano,

From crayons and cassette tapes,

I am from full sketch books and memories in every room.

I am from the artificial pear tree.

The rose bushes,

Whose piercing thorns I remember like yesterday.

 

I’m from family road trips and big brown eyes,

From Betty and Anne.

I’m from the book snobs and the perpetual singers; the self-made artists.

From Be Positive and Don’t Get Your Hopes Up!

I’m from “God is Love,”

With handbells and a pipe organ

Other hymns I know by heart.

 

I’m from 2619 Whitehorse Vale Drive and Seneca Park.

Vanilla ice cream in a cup and pancakes on Saturdays

From the mind my Grandma lost to dementia,

The mind my Grandpa lost to the same disease.

 

In my closet sits nine sketchbooks

Filled with lost hopes, friendships, worries, desires, and fears,

Sketches of the past

To live on behind new sketches and scribbles

I am from those moments—

Sketched before many lessons learned and dreams realized—

A clean page in a fresh sketchbook.