Where Am I From?

by S.C. Breyer

I am from the folded pages of a loved book, from sunshine dresses and a dusty pair of combat boots.
I am from the grey semi-circle, the shattered light post, and the window in the front,
Letting the sunsets during summer days.
I am from the tiny purple leaved tree by the front door, the snow caves lining the driveway,
Begging for my brother's company.
I am from carrying the pumpkin with a patchwork quilt,
From thick, curly hair from Yaya and Grandpa Charlie Miller, may he rest in peace.
I am from the family of doctors, the musically inclined, the charismatic.
From "Say cheese!" and "Not yet, try again!"
I am from JAM in the Zumba room, Applebee's after a freezing cold service (and another reminder to bring a coat next time), and a desire to belong, but feeling incomplete.
I'm from the land of the gods, the Oracle of Delphi, majestic tales of heroes and chariot races,
From cream cheese frosting and Anything Pasta.
From drawing winter trees on the back porch alone, bit marks from an older brother I'd learn to love with frevor, and the ever thinning hair on my mother's head.
I am from purple bound books in the library, engraved in gold of every year of time passing by.

In Memory of Sydney Breyer

We'll always love you, Sydnah.