I am from the wooden spoons

The flip flops and the belts.

I am from the cities

And their lights

The beaches and their sand

And the soft brown dust that blows in my eyes.

I am from the land of colors:

Red, white, and blue;

Brown, black, and pale.

I am from the days where basketballs

And running were my home

Where lunches were never really a thing.

I am from where pencils glide on paper

And pens stain the lines

Where all is valid

Long, short, rhyming, or not.

As objects turn into memories

And people turn into places.

Suddenly, images become montages

And I realize that I am from the past

The dust and the ashes that came and went.

I am from the wind, the sun, the ground, and the rain.

I am from the past and I am from the present, and I will be from the future.