I am from the wooden spoons
The flip flops and the belts.
I am from the cities
And their lights
The beaches and their sand
And the soft brown dust that blows in my eyes.
I am from the land of colors:
Red, white, and blue;
Brown, black, and pale.
I am from the days where basketballs
And running were my home
Where lunches were never really a thing.
I am from where pencils glide on paper
And pens stain the lines
Where all is valid
Long, short, rhyming, or not.
As objects turn into memories
And people turn into places.
Suddenly, images become montages
And I realize that I am from the past
The dust and the ashes that came and went.
I am from the wind, the sun, the ground, and the rain.
I am from the past and I am from the present, and I will be from the future.