I am from
the old brick house at the bottom of a hill;
from a small, sunny backyard;
that twilight taste of cigarette smoke from my neighbour.

I am from midnight walks through the park,
snow angels in the snow,
a house among the trees and hide-and-go-seek on rooftops.

I am from lots of bed time stories,
another one, mommy. Please?
Sitting on the staircase, contemplating whether I should ask to sleep with them because the monster scared me away.

I am from cousins and sleepovers in the summer-shed;
swinging for hours in their living room;
playing minecraft way longer than we should have;
from tag in the woods and more hide and seek down by the creek.

I am from waiting in my room 'till midnight just to make sure he got home safe and sound.
I am from watching the smoke from chimneys in the night,
from thinking that the park was on fire.

Going to twenty different places,
seeing oceans and mountains and adventures,
missing them.

From my first ballet class (and hating it),
from all those competitions and ribbons and costumes,
promising it was my last year every time and finally regretting it when it really was.

I am from going to Grandpa's house everyday after school.
I remember him in his rocking chair, with the cat in his lap, treats waiting our arrival.
He doesn't sit there any longer.

I am from wishing and watching and waiting for nothing.
I am from piles of paper and journals hidden in the corners of my room, scattered with words and memories.

I am from my sister. My mother. My father.

I am from flowers and forget me nots and daisies and lupins.
From the books on my shelves, half of them unread.

I am from staring at my ceiling fan, asking God what was wrong with me.
I am from my Black Book, where those heavy feelings linger.

From those first two weeks of quarantine, reading so much I actually couldn't see properly. And not regretting it at all.

I am from denial, denial, denial was the truth.
But hey, Grace, it's sitting right there in front of you.
Might as well embrace it.

I am from being the sentimental one.
Keeping those shoes that don't fit because I wore them on my trip.
I am from almost diving in too deep.

Sigh

I am from letting go. From love. From memories.
But where I'm from, is letting go.

I am from __________________
(a specific item from your childhood home)

from
__________________
(two­ products or objects from your past)

I am from __________________
(a phrase describing your childhood home)

and __________________(more description of your childhood home)

I am from __________________
(a plant, tree or natural item from your past)

whose __________________
(pers­onify that natural item)

I am from __________________
(two objects from your past)

from _______________and __________________
(a family name) (another family name)

I am from ______________and __________________
(a family trait or tendency) (another family trait or tendency)

and from ____________________­___
(another family trait, habit or tendency)
from __________________
(anot­her family trait, habit or tendency)

I am from __________________
(a religious phrase or memory)

I am from ______________and __________________
(an ancestor) (another ancestor)

from __________________
(two foods from your family history)

from __________________
(a specific event in the life of an ancestor)

and from __________________
(anot­her detail from the life of an ancestor)

_________________­
(a memory or object you had as a child)

I am from those moments ___________________
(conc­lude by finishing this thought or by repeating a line or idea from earlier in the poem)

I am from the hills
from a place where all you can see and smell are pine trees
I am from nowhere yet somewhere
from the yellow grass that flows with the wind.
I am from the bobcat growls and owl hoots
from deer prancing across the open fields.
I am from scorching summer heat
from the cold winter blizzards
with which I remember the heat of the fire
warding me from the evil chill.

I am from old movies and music
from action figures and Legos.
I am from the nerd brigade
from the straight-A club.
I am from a place where knowledge is power
and power is everything
From deja vu and nightmares
from which my mind is scared and perplexed.

I am from the teachings given by Master Yoda
“Fear is the path to the dark side
fear leads to anger,
anger leads to hate,
hate leads to suffering.”
and the advice given by Mace Windu
“Be mindful of your feelings”
from all those friends who also helped me along

In my room was Star Wars everywhere
With Han Solo on the dresser, away from the Millenium Falcon.
With Yoda on the computer desk, giving wisdom to all who work.
With young Anakin on the bookshelf, dreaming of his future.
I am from those moments
to which I want to forget.
Painful, memories are.

I’m from vegetable gardens, pink lemonade and board games.

From tall, golden sunflowers blooming in the summer to soaked mittens resting on the radiator in the winter.

I’m from twinkling white lights arranged beautifully in the bushes surrounding the pool and from thinking that the Canada day fireworks were so incredibly magical.

I’m from my teddy bears and dolls cluttering the basement floor to fresh cut peonies sitting on the kitchen counter and filling the house with their familiar scent.

I’m from ‘elbows off the table’ and soft boiled eggs in little painted egg cups.

I’m from wondering what the hundreds of old books on the bookshelf could possibly be about and from watching Shirley Temple movies over and over again until I could recite nearly every word.

I’m from choreographing dances to classical music and preforming them in the backyard.

I’m from ‘goodnight’ and forced bedtime prayers.

I’m from Gudrun and John better known as Nanny and Poppy.

I am from the tears of an aged woman,
who cried happily to a worn down man.
I am from bare grass,
where my shoeless feet felt the gentle blades,
and my tender hands gripped the bark.

I am from the countless fights,
the destructiveness of different personalities
all forced into one home.
I am from the coffee-stained house,
from the  yeses and no's,
from the broken glass.
I am from the ballerina-pink room
where I spent most of my time.

I'm from the unwelcomed situations,
naked and unbearably lost.
From the broken bones,
to the broken hearts.
I am from emotions.

There, in my mind,
all these memories,
good and bad,
are the important stuff.
I am from what she made,
but I created,
and I will destroy.

I am from Fisher Price cars with foot powered engines.
Dolls with no hair,
Barbies with no houses.

I am from give it back!
Give it here!
Alex, no!
Ni Ni, stop!

I am from frost bitten rain and winter coats.

I am from snow for Days.
and Weeks.
and Months.

I am from North, East, South, and West.
The Shinobi.
The Lone Ranger.
With Life dragging me in each direction,
“Stay” is not in my vocabulary.

I am from the Cool of The Bay
And the Heat of The Valley.

I am from Loud Mouths
And Long Hair.
Sarcasm and Activism.
No one speaks for me.

I am from a Cousin of Every Color,
A Sister of Every Origin,
A Brother of Every Nation.

I am from the empty darkness of my room.
I can do nothing but bask in its humidity.

I am from nothing but the Hum of Music.

The Tune of Music.

The Sound of Music.

I am from things unsaid.
I am those unsaid things.

I am from the beat of the drum,
And a dance that will always conversate with me.

I am from the Theater.
From the Backdrop to the Stage.
I am the dusted over glitter on the floor.
I am the glisten of the lights above me.

The Singer.
The Actor.
The Writer.

I am the truest version of myself.

And nothing will stop me.











© 2015 Kendra Bowman

I am from a cluttered family tree and old wives' tales,
From coal-tinted clothes and the sound of our train.

I am from unridden bikes and muddy boots,
From gasping tears over puppies and kitties.

I am from The Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly
And counting cars on her tiny porch.

I am from "mmhm, mmhm," and "scratch my back,"
And "I love you bigger than the whole sky."

I am from singing when you don't feel like it and running to Granny's house,
From apples with salt and flimsy UNO cards.

I am from a chilly room that smells of old books,
From crouching beneath barbed-wire to gather blackberries.

I am from the house on the hill, the little back room,
From the gravel driveway and rusty Ol' Blue.

I am from the Frederick heritage, the Daugherty line,
From Isaiah 40:13 and "find your wings."