dad left
for his second tour of duty
on my third birthday

mom kept
a jar full of jelly beans
on the living room coffee table

every night
she gave me one to eat, saying
"when these jelly beans
are all eaten up,
dad will come back home"

sometimes
i would sneak another,
to help dad come home sooner

one night
the phone rang
and i watched mom
wipe away a tear
as she filled
the jar
back
up

"I love you so much"
is scrawled in the dust of my TV.
Every time I roll over and see the
motivation, my lip curves-
I feel you in what was a tent, now a house,
constructed in me.

A full house to clean,
I can't even keep the dust off my TV.
Your lips press onto me
and I swear I can feel every
glass window shatter in rooms of my knees.

I'd pick up the glass with my bare hands
just so you
could see the daylight through the pieces
in the morning.

Sometimes I let the storms tear down my walls,
allow visitors to leave the stove on a little too long-
and I push myself to the weeping willow to vanish.
You notice the lights are off and I am thrown in the wagon,
pulled back home to safety.
I don't mean to be so selfish,
thinking that I matter out there when graced
under the vines of Mother nature.

You are my comfort zone,
my bed on a sick day,
and I love you more than any of these words.

i am a rectangle
because i too have dark, dusty corners
and sharp edges

and you can fold me 1000 times
but i will still be the same
i will never change for you

I will always be the strongest
and biggest
among my family

because i come from generations of
tiny waists and dainty wrists,
of little feet and fragile frames

of empty rectangles with soft corners
and simple lines and ribs and
what you might call petite

but i am a different being
and therefore i do not fit
in any of my grandmother's dresses

i could blame my bones
or my health or my happiness
but i see only distortion and mutation

and i should have been tinier
and i should have been skinnier
but i am me and that is that

and when i see my mother
and my two beautiful sisters
i tower and glower and envy

for i am alone in my body
while even my twin stays smaller
while i grow and glow and glare

the winter was bitter
cozy and cold
and i found comfort in misery

perhaps it would go away when the sun came out and the flowers bloomed and seeds sprouted with new life and new promise

but
the rain came and gloomy days remained
and i still smiled with a grimace
and i still stayed up and stared at my ceiling and wondered

when i would be happy

because it's a heavy blanket over my legs
a spider web of stories and a shattered window that couldn't be glued back together

it's the half moons under my eyes
the lack of mirrors
and the chewed cuticles

it's fine
sadness
creeping into the cracks when you're not whole and finding the best parts of you
and nesting and spreading and staying

sad

I am from

A yellow house and a little red bike

Bruises and Band-Aids on my knees

From learning every time I fall



I am from

The Band, The Beatles, Buddy Holly, and Bruce Springsteen

Our small kitchen table and Christmas cookies

From a family that almost fits on my Grandparent’s front porch



I am from

Summer memories and freckles and the Field of Dreams

The swimming hole, egg salad sandwiches, popsicles and pecan sandies

From Gramma and Fred and the Mill Road



I am from generations of tiny waists and dainty wrists

Of Marlise and Melissa and M’s

Brown eyes and pine needles and Big Rock

From denial and acceptance



I am from

Tea with my mom and driving with my dad

My beautiful Hazel

From the Harvest Party and my beloved barn



I am from soft white clouds of comforters

A room painted the shade of pink lemonade

Arizonas and cosmic brownies and Matt’s Honeydew melon Sorbet

From Quickway and the Gazebo and Cherry Valley


I am from a collection of keys with no locks

Chewed cuticles and paper cuts

A mouthful of words and a bad habit of tripping

From the love of glue and sharp scissors



I am from years of *****, bare feet

And freedom to be me

Getting the mail everyday except Sunday

From picnic tables and corn on the cob


I am from a love of language and words and poetry

A love of planes and tractors and the Superbowl

A big family as strong as the Brooklyn Bridge

And just as supportive too


I am from my dream catcher

Catching my fantasies of fast cars and shooting stars

A bottle full of memories and polaroids taped to my wall

From hip hop and coca cola and heart shaped sunglasses


I am from the baby freckles on my shoulders

A love of sun and freshly mowed green grass

Brave New World and Brandy Melville

From tweeting and handwritten letters


I am from the studio floor and my ballet slippers

My favorite black leotard and Fuentes

12 years of pointed feet and tutus

From the dressing room and the barre


I am from the Star of David and 8 burning candles

Suburban Philadelphia and Black Friday

Diners and Chinese Food and Fortunes

From my dad


I am from the cornfields and red barns

Chickens and cows, fresh eggs and warm milk

Valedictorians and Ivy leagues

From my mom



But most of all, I am from the puzzle pieces of myself

The dark, dusty, unexplored corners of my brain

The fear of death and rats and failure and loneliness

From the love of life and belief and hope