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I am from lambent candles,
And patchouli-filled air.
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.