Where I’m From
I am from palm trees and typhoons,
High noon suns and clean evening rain.
I am from the snow hills in January,
The wind in my hair and silence at my feet.
I am from the deserts long ago,
An empty canvas to begin the story of the ages.
I’m from trees of learning, knowledge overflowing,
From slow paper airplanes and wind under my wings.
I’m from Leafla, the silent observer,
Twice a day, running screaming, on top of the world.
I’m from places yet to see, always calling, ever waiting.
Lumbering steps and deafening roars put to drum beats.
From my imagination bursting forth at the seams,
Talking stuffed animals and a play in a wardrobe.
From pocket monsters and magicians of dark,
Tapping into a gift I didn’t know I had.
From dreams of the future, new ways, old places.
Going back to the beginning where I’ve never been before.
The past with kid brothers and kiddie pools,
Broken lightbulbs and missing dogs; it’s always there just behind me.
The here and now in painted robes like lilacs,
One moment then the next, I step out into independence.
The future, a void, forming in the distance,
A mirage, glimpse, to where I’ll end up.
Three parts of me, fractured and cracked,
Pieces fit though not perfectly, as they say, duct tape fixes everything.