I am from cool sheets,
blue stripes and white paint.
I am from mosquitoes
and long weeds
slapping my feet
under the swing set.
I am from gray shelves
that smell metallic
and dusty
and old.

I’m from popcorn and apples,
From tape players
And slide guitars.
I’m from John 3:16,
Not to mention Romans 3:23.
I’m from spending-the-night,
Brownie batter,
And pages and pages and pages
Of the books I dream in.

I’m from violent seasons,
From chilly love
And murderous spring.
I’m from a tentative breakfast
At a wooden table
With all the wrong guests.
I’m from a soulless piano
Marching past
The grounding bass,
The healing cello,
The intelligent viola,
And the celestial violin.