Poetry

I am from playgrounds in the park, from throwing frisbees in the front yard,

I am from the boring house in the neighborhood, no decorations, simple colors.

I am from throwing rocks at ice on cold winter days,

And climbing trees behind the house, playing in the stream at the park, shallow and cold.

I’m from waking up early on Christmas morning, and from being busy and not at the same time.

From brothers asking to play games and running around in the yard for hours,

I am from falling off bikes and coming homes with scrapes and bruises....