Where I’m From

I am from roses,

Prickling my fingers.

I am from old Beetle cars,

Wheezing past in shades of grey and green.

I am from an Old Bridge,

Standing tall and indestructible,

Having been destroyed so many times.

I am from grasshoppers,

All over the ground,

Chirping, with me hopping,

Having to avoid stepping on them.

I am from two small knobs,

Creating black and white images,

On a small screen.

The Muftic and Milavic branches extend,

From the Mediterranean Sea,

To the cherry blossom tree in my backyard.

The smell of black coffee,

Meat and potato pies,

Foreign to this new land,

Fill the air.

I am from Mix,

The black and white cat,

We took in one night.

And Mini the kitten,

The spotted little kitten,

Who never fought, scratched, or bit,

Whose death still touches my heart.

I am from summer breezes,

Blowing cold air onto my sun-burned skin.

I am from beaches filled with large rocks,

With tiny crabs crawling between them.

I am from the salty sea water,

Home to small fish,

Which I catch with only a bucket and small net.

In my parent’s bedroom,

There are various photo albums,

Big, small, colorful, leather bound,

All pouring out photos,

Pouring out memories.

I am from those photos, those memories,

And much, much more.