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.