I’m from the small town pond
Where I learned to swim
Whose murky waters I wouldn’t step in now.
From Zingers and Devil Dogs
Fighting over the last Coco Mound
Sipping from a can of Sprite with a straw.
From from mother sitting on the living room floor
Surrounded by clipped coupons
With All My Children serving as her companion.
I’m from roller skating in my parent’s garage
The Pointer Sisters blaring in the background
Hours spent lost in the adventures of Ramona Quimby.
From lazy afternoons with Memere and Pepere
Rocking the day away on their small front porch
The music of French sneaking out of their conversations.
I’m from my Great Grandfather’s hookah
The relief of escaping the cigarette smoke filled house
That belonged to my grandparents.
From my mother grabbing our hands and breaking into boisterous dance
to the Ghostbusters theme song
Her sweet snorting laugh mixing with the music.
To quiet evenings slow dancing with my dad in the living room
When no one else was home.
I’m from striving for straight As
The crush of disappointment
From earning anything less.
From afternoons in my Great Aunts’ apple orchard
Running from tree to tree.
Endless sibling competition of “who can pick the most.”
The last remnants of a family farm
They held onto
Until they could no more.