Where I’m from

I’m from the borrowed pages I have read,
from streetlights and stop signs and long winding sidewalks.
I’m from the cat sitting on the windowsill and the musty rugs beneath my feet.
I’m from the orchid resting on the counter, whose petals never fell nor died, but stood their ground in the warm sunlight.
I’m from the snowfall that engulfed the backyard, turning it into a snowy wonderland,
from the stormy clouds above my head and the raindrops that dotted the windows.
I am from the gumdrops my grandpa ate and the sweaters my grandma knit.
I’m from “our father, who art in heaven” and the golden chapel of the church I spent the early hours of my Sundays in.
I am from the stars that glimmered right outside my bedroom window, so bright and vibrant, I could almost hear them tapping on the glass, and the starless nights, whose inky blackness would drown out all light and gently lull me to sleep.
I’m from 939 30th avenue, the home I grew up in,
from the red-painted door and the lucky horse shoe my mom hung above it.
I am from all these things and more, from the memories I cherish and the things yet to come.