I come from trees and sunshine,
Rainy days and snowy winds.
I come from duplexes, and stores on every corner.
From butterscotch candies, and that old ladies home.
I come from trees that line the streets, and the raindrops on cars and rooftops.
I come from the kitties; Montana, Freeway, Ally, and the most precious-Dexter.
I am from best friends and sleepovers with matching stuffed dogs.
I come from sprained arms, running on wet slides, and Walt Whitman elementary.
I am from stories of horses and farmlands.
From my grandfathers driving dreams and day.
I am from the scent of spices and home made chip dips.
I am from store bought eggs that hatch, and the neighbor boys.
I am from screaming bridges, the alley that floods and freezes, and Gold Coast Subs.
I am from shared rooms, bunk beds, and juice can forts resulting in injuries.
I am from singing with the black boys down the street, and the bowling alley birthday parties.
I call home the place with peaceful streets, lovely people.
I am from the flower girls aisle and joyous smiles.
I am from Wilson park, Lake Michigan shores, and Milwaukee families.
I am from the sight of my father’s first tears, my grandmothers casket.
I am from pained hugs, strained goodbyes and the moving truck in the parking lot.
I call home, home.
This is an old poem. I am looking through my old writing notebooks that were never complete. I am finding things that are sad and memorable. I am finding happy things, and suffocating words. I am mostly finding writing prompts from my creative writing class last year. It’s very nice to find old writings.
Today I finished my paper that is due tomorrow, and now I am waiting for someone to text me because I am too lazy to text, haha. I did my yoga, and I wrote out the plan for the rest of this month. After I finish writing some things from my old notebooks to my new one, I am going to write a to-buy list for this Friday, then I will try to save.