I come from metallic bunk beds
from American Express debt
and Visa Master Card envelopes

I am from run down two bedroom apartments,
   trying to contain a higher number of people
   than it had walls

small. battered.
it felt like a field

I am from the palo verdé

From the hissing noises from cicadas outside
bronze screen door, they ring all summer long

summer never ends here

I am from large late night texas hold em games on Christmas night

from yelling, insecurities, laughter

from nostalgia

from teenager high school romances

Patrick. Susanne.

I am from divorce and cousins living airplanes away

I am from “don’t jump on that”
                “don’t touch that”
                “don’t run like that”
        from “I don’t feel like going to the hospital today”

I come from that awkward phase when my parents like country music
to when my dad tells me stories when he used to listen to Biggie

"are you okay laddie"

I come from Saturday Sabbath
I still don’t know what grandma believes in
but she believes in me

I come from Germany. My mother sailed oceans avoiding war.
I come from the land. My father witness oceans sailing to him start wars.

from sweet tea to bitter coffee

from the time I pulled out my brothers front teeth in a game of tug of war

from the only pictures hanging in the hallway outside of what used to be my room.
what was my room.

I am from Saturday night drive thrus

cruising south Tucson

creating a place worth coming from
where words drift off page, and family anchors it.