Where I’m From

Where I’m From


I am from dirt,

from the worms and the basil plant.

I am from the leaves that fall,

red, yellow and orange.

I am from the clouds,

bringing diversity into my home.


I am from Providence and Manchester,

the apartment on the hill.

I am from the snow,

as the skis cut through it like a knife.

I am from the bow,

just as the arrow is released.


I am from the paintbrush

that paints my world of colors.

I am from the metal

that saws the wood in two.

I am from the rose petal

that is soft as pale skin.

I am from the rope

that pulls us all together.


I am from the five line staff,

the notes are my story

the music my tale.

I am from the four string instrument,

plucking the strings

letting my song be heard.

I am from the crystal clear tone,

emitted from the flute

played without flaw.

I am from the lyrics

they bring me back

but push me farther away


Open the book.

The lost memories,

and the lost friends.

They take me back,

to where I’m from.

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