I am from the towering oak and pine trees
That sway on the old forest’s edge,
Coyotes howling in the shadows
A haunting lamentation

I am from the creaky stairs and floorboards
At the house on Liberty Street,
From the ancient gas heater and its tendrils of flame
That never seemed to be quite hot enough

I am from the sound of my father’s voice
Heavy with sleep as he whispers to us
A late night bedtime story,
Scaring away the monsters under our beds

I am from Sunday mornings
Bursting with rays of golden light and
Filtering through glimmering church windows
Lingering on familiar faces

I am from ‘make good choices’
'Be a peacemaker’
‘You are greatness’ and
‘Oiaue!’

I am from the scent of Mom’s cookies
Chocolate chip and butterscotch
Melting away winters and
Warming cold hearts

I am from acrylic paint,
Graphite, ink and canvas
From smudged hands, stained clothes,
And a sketchbook full of scribblings

I am from the crisp chill of autumn
In the mountains of Vermont,
Staring into a sea of stars
As dazzling sparks float skyward in the distance

I am from the cool sea breeze
And the salty mist over the water
Waves crashing fiercely in the haze
Of Newport’s rocky shores

I am from the quiet peace
That can only come from the words
“I love you” and the warm embrace
That often follows

I am from endless words
Written with shaking, ink-stained hands
On crumpled bone white paper
Hoping to be good enough to keep

I am from weak muscles and fragile bones
From hesitant first steps and training wheels
From stubborn no’s and penitent yes’s
From late nights and shadowy eyes

I am from the past
I am from the present
I am from the trembling, changing
Pathway to my future

I am from this house
This family and
This home