i am from a pile of gluten-free pancake mix in the pantry
from a bowl of bananas that are always rotten and a drawer of pens that is never opened.
i am from the patchwork house in the middle of the street that never feels empty of anything.
i am from the rosebushes
the tree at the end of the street whose long gone limbs i remember as if they were my own.

i’m from blonde hair and adopted siblings.
i’m from introverts and lovers of books
and from driving around the country every summer because plane tickets are too expensive.

i’m from the Easter bunny and Santa Claus
and “say sorry to your brother.”
i’m from stir fry on Sundays.
i’m from Omaha and all over Europe
and potato soup and homemade bread.
from the time my brother fell down the stairs and hit his head on the wall.
from the quilt my grandmother began that now lies incomplete in a trunk in the back of the attic.