I Am From

I am from chalk dust,
From pencil shavings and freshly washed paint brushes.
I am from the rustle of paper and heartbeat of creation

(Laborious and beloved.
building up a dexterity
I wasn’t supposed to have.)

I am from careful observation, textures memorized,
the rough bark that I never figured out how to mimic on paper,
but which echoes through my dreams.

 

I am from blazing inferno, and heart-splitting tragedy

(and gentle autumn rains.)

From encouragement and pulling through the bleak.

I am from years of working, striving, demanding I see tomorrow.

I am from stalwart endurance, and a refusal to give in, or give up.

 

I am from the sweet melody of a sizzling pan, and the spices introduced to meat

From sweet meat and savory fruit

I am from laughter around the table, and those welcomed near

I am from late night labors, and early morning breakfasts

 

I am from a thousand different places

From travel on the road, and packing the morning before

From three am airports, and afternoon seaports

I am from restless legs, and far flung family, following after them