Where I’m From

I’m from cartoons

and hair clips,

dog leashes and recycled trash bags.

Crumpled tightly; a bag within a bag.

I am from wide green lawns

where I cartwheeled on.

I come from arguments with

my brother and mother Switzerland.

I’m from hot summers and foot rubs,

smelly and soft.

Books and French vanilla creamer.

I don’t come from a rabbit hole,

only Bugs Bunny and

“What’s up Doc?”

I’m from Oz and ruby slippers,

weird socks and boxing gloves.


I’m from the mailman,

cards and cash,

delivered in a dirty white satchel

from my grandma and her excessive kisses

that smell like cigarettes.

Sent from generations of women

who built me, colored me,

and stayed within the lines.

I come from jump rope competitions,

challenged to cross a line.


One thought on “Where I’m From

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