“Who are you?” You ask.
I am the girl from laundry bins,
From ballet shoes and tap recitals
From moving vans long ago

I come from the smell of shoe polish
From soft scents of detergent filling my nose as I fell asleep
And sweet perfumes constantly wafting from the oven.

I could tell you about the chicken casserole of my childhood, its savory, creamy sauce flooding my mouth,
The strawberries we used to pick out on market day, their sweet, tangy explosion.
And the peanut butter sandwiches with jelly smiles.

I am from a household where “Stay out of debt” and “Stand up straighter” and “Honor thy mother and father” were common calls
Friends, relatives,

My sisters’ fights and my mother’s hugs,
“Silent Night” and “I’m a Little Teapot” and “Hedwig’s Theme” sticking themselves into my head along the way.

My childhood was filled with window clings and green doors and from overgrown flower beds,
I was serenaded by blue jays’ chirps in the morning, Beethoven at dinner, and lullabies at night.
I am from Tellytubies, from Matlock, and most especially from Elmo.
From fake sword fights and the quiet game, and hours of “High Ho Cherry O”
From Apples, soymilk and the chocolate hidden in the vegetable drawer
Leaf jumping in the fall, snowball fights in the winter, dandelion picking in the spring, moving in the summer.

I am from a place where Capri suns, watermelon, nutty-bars and summer sausage once were the ultimate treats.
I am from a place where girls are worried about looks and opinions, and the boys are about the same,
While books and swings held my thoughts for hours.

I am from months of arguments that never paused, where mom was broke and dad was too.
I am from my first and last piano lesson & painting in the kitchen.
I am from chique-nerd and neon bracelets, and straightened hair.
From Macarena and cupid shuffle.

I could tell you about these things, since you asked
Those memories, places, things, they are a part of me.
But you don’t really want to know, so I just tell you my name instead.