I come from the cracked sidewalks of Chi-town, stoops
where we sat baking in blistering sun, listening
for the bells of the bicycles, so bold & eager for change
we could plop on the counter of the corner store.

In the constant drone of the deli, Italian grandpas
convened in their drab plaid, pressed khakis — coursing
the quiet confidence that comes from living that life
in the fast lane, simmering to a peace that permeates
each measured step. The bowls of minestrone soup
to warm their old bones: dead dreams reigniting.

I come from the family that never had anything
to own — but still didn’t allow me to go hungry.
I come from a steaming plate of sizzling
homemade dumplings, each juicy morsel
containing a mother’s fierce love for family.

I come from a long line of trauma responses
and the healing that only comes from truly creating.
I come from a great-grandmother, a grandmother,
a mother that poured out even when the jagged pieces
cut up our throats coming up. I come from having

lost my entire mind, frenzied forces pushing
my body up against a cold psych wall, no escape
in sight for me. I come from the guilt I'd held
for far too long, for missing the entire first
month of my daughter's life on this earth
when I couldn't even take care of myself.

Somewhere in the midst of coming to the end
of myself, I found You. You had never left.
I came home, battered and so broken, and You
enveloped me in Your healing Light. Selah.  



I’m walking in restoration, deep restoration,
a coursing river engorged with living water.
I finally allow myself to be fully immersed
in the wellspring that never runs dry. And there, fully
surrendered in the depths, I find that I can finally breathe.