I am from devouring sweet, plump mulberries

                                    on a crisp spring day. Staining my fingers
with each syrupy bite...

From observing the Northern Lights with my father
on our stained back porch we sat,
peaceful and at ease.

                                   I am from, “there’s always room for more,”
as I stuffed my face with my grandmother’s
gooey, cherry pies...

From the crackling wood,
the noise the rich wood created
in the dead of the night.

I am from tranquilly drifting through clouds,
awoken by
            coffee brewing on a Sunday morning...

              From snapping photos of my friends
            on my shiny new Polaroid
                   hoping to remember spirited nights, I surely won’t.

          I am from the sweet, crisp fragrance of rain,
        gently creating puddles on the ground.
           The delicate splashes carelessly grazing the lake...

      I am from the day Kueyon played
        Canon in D for our piano recital,
        sobbing from its beauty.

From exploring the depths
of forests, abandoned buildings, and the quiet of night
hoping to find bliss...

                    I am from devouring sweet, plump mulberries
                                 on a crisp spring day. Staining my fingers
                                                with each syrupy bite.