I am from grammar, from Saxon, from freewriting
I am from the branching firs, the frozen swamp,
From the grass filled pool, the flanking forest
I am from a computer at two years, and games till four hours
From VSauce and Neil deGrasse Tyson
I am from fighting my brother with sticks then pipes
From shadows with swords and tabletop gaming
From a tribunal of voices that Sigmund knows well
I am from Chinese food on Christmas Eve,
And ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas
I am from Yellowstone, Custer, and Bryce,
From music in the back seat
I am from the town of the cat for my age in years
From my sister’s needless worrying
And my brother’s incessant questioning
I am from a trust in the Potter and His masterful hands
Strengthened by a chaos in His house
I am from the cupboard downstairs and old news articles,
Telling how my great grandfather sold diamonds,
And my great grandmother traveled the world
I am from these moments
Growing slowly from twig to branch
Bearing fruit on this young fig tree