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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