Where I’m From

By Riley McCormick

I am from the crinkled bedsheets,
and the open window which lets in the breeze.
I am from the bright kitchen,
which would be smiling if it could.
The yummy goods that crumbles when you touch them.
I am from the sliding door,
to the wooden steps with wasps buzzing around them.

I am from playing ball with my twin,
to running down the street.
I am from riding my bike,
and eating popsicles on the porch.
I am from the weeds between the cracks in the sidewalk
and the puddle on the driveway.
The brownish grass covered in seed that has never done its job.

I’m from sprinting in the Learning Garden,
to sitting in the circle of pine trees,
which conceals us when we want it.
I’m from pine needles in my hair
and the leaves swaying,
like they planned that dance