I am from sunny tendrils
from the live oak tree.
I am from the strings of the cement guitars
that blare through the speakers,
chords like giant gray rain clouds.

I am from the dry grass splinters in my feet.
Who has time for shoes?
I am from the Tres Leches cake.
The Sunday nights with the parents
college football. Go Longhorns!

I am from boots made of fire ants,
skyscrapers made of glass.
I am from tie dye T-shirts with words like
“Chewy’s” and “Keep Austin weird”
more guitars, more strings.

Ours was a rock house,
tan, in the suburbs.
Waves scraped towers on the horizon.
I am from that dog panting in pants on the sidewalk  
with dreadlocks.

A rock to be uncovered.
A sidewalk to be walked.
A riverbed to be scoured.
A tree to be climbed,
its roots holding tight to the foundation of what I call home.