I am from breakfast crackers,

from Belvita and oats

I am from the organized maze.

(White, neat,

mixture of oranges and detergent.)

I am from the daisy bush,

the bamboo plant that twists and grow endlessly.

 

I’m from storytellers and bad eyesight,

from Jahir and Yaritza.

I’m from sit-up-straight

and don't slouch

from who's going to be there to call me when you get there

I am from the cherished and beloved

from Spanish congregation to a place where I belong,

among the hills of the song.

I’m from the savior that leads me where my trust is without borders,

takes me deeper than my feet can wander.

I’m from the creator that will not let me be tempted more than I can bear

and that knows the plans to prosper me,

and give me a future filled with hope.

 

I’m from Los Alamitos and El Salvador,

pupusas and Slava ryenosos

From the Big Bear Rapids that Oppa and Oma almost drowned,

And the one time I decided to do hair salon to my barbies.

 

I am from the top closet

that shows the stories that one can’t recall.

The souvenirs of the childhood

that the mother has an emotional attachment.

And the faded memory that others seem to remember and not you