I am from brown paper bags,
from Ziplocs and Jif.
I am from the land guarded by levees.
(Safe, strong,
it felt indestructible.)
I am from the magnolia tree,
the sago palm
whose foliage obstructs the vision I hold dear.

I am from the card players and the sixth degree tree,
from Simoncenes and Talianciches and Falgousts,
I’m from the forgotten names
and lack of inside voices,
from Soap in your mouth! And Hot Sauce on your tongue!
I’m from the rosary tangled in my hands,
and relate to Him for He understands.

I’m from St. Tammany and across the sea,
chopsuey and dirty rice.
From the mashed potatoes my father flung at his eldest daughters,
the sense of gravity lost by my grandmothers.

On the shelves were memories kept,
snapshot after snapshot awaiting the entrance of company.
I am from the moments created by laughter,
always a smile from here on and after.
I am never alone,
Surrounded by family whom I call my home.