Where I Come From

I come from a rusted swingsets, metal fences, sprinklers and slip'n'slides.
I come from moving trucks, from broken furniture, from coke cans and plastic cups.
I remember road trips and train tracks and new names and faces.
I come from one sibling, wrestles and fights and screams of' 'let go, its mine'.
I come from suburbs and parched lawns and nosy neighbors, from home-made marble cakes and ice cream.
I come from sardonic comments and cynical quips and laughter about T shirt ideas and stupid little doodles.
I come from grandma's cancer, from survival and bravery and chemotherapy.
I come from bottles of happiness that sit across the room, but I won't get up to take it.
I come from rice porridge and miso soup, from inarizushi made from callaused and wrinkled hands.
I come from three clocks ticking over and over until I can't really hear them. I come from tablet pens and digital painting and microsoft word and keyboards that hammer away the words.
I come from bottle rockets, from illegal Ohio fireworks that shoot off as we eat chips and exchange cell phone numbers.
I come from a brother growing up too fast for me, from the anxiety of getting left behind.
I come from a small family that loves and laughs with me, and who help me cry.
I come from concrete steps.