Goodnight Moon

I am from lambent candles,

And patchouli-filled air.

(earthy, natural,

crisp fall aroma.)

From dewy choked windows,

From yellow dog hair.

I am from countless warm blankets,

Like an iron shield sheltering you from the rigid cold.

I am from a hot brazing fire,

Like silent folks dancing within each flame,

Gracefully lost in the blaze of callous orange and yellow.

I am from the single apple tree out in front,

And the redolent cider.

I am from blue china plates,

From little cola glasses.

I am from intense coffee,

And vinegary fries.

I am from the overworked Keurig sitting in the corner,

Buzzing as the boiling whips of hot liquid plunge for the bottom of the mug,

Like the top of a volcano whose temper has been pushed,

Spiting its anger from atop.

I am from red and white mittens fresh from the snow,

The neatly folded laundry still hot from the dryer.

I am from organized shoe shelves,

And precisely designated housing.

I am from the big booming clock,

“Tick-tocking” through the halls.

I am from Worlds Atlas’s and diamond studded earrings,

From Brian and Joan.

I am from daily planners and Hockey skates,

From Jenny and Marty.

I am from Goodnight Moon,

And Goodnight Goon.

I am from the sing-song of the crickets when dusk clouds over above.

I am from grass stains and bloody knees.

I am from band aid drawers with labels,

And a tolerance for pain.

I am from the rubbery hockey pucks strewn in the winter,

The lacrosse balls hurdling through the summer.

I am from bumps and bruises,

And competitive games.

I am from the fresh baked, Canada-sent, family made fruit bread.

I am from strict manners during meals,

From excuse me,

To please and thank you.

I am from an emerald shuttered house at the end of the road.