I am from wooden rocking chairs and porcelain dolls in frilly dresses.
From filled bookshelves and stuffed animals with faded red ribbons.
I am from a typical yellow house placed in the middle of a serene neighborhood, and broken windows and untouched fireplaces.
I am from the small, fiery red maple,
Whose inviting branches united many, creating everlasting friendships.
I am from broken pianos, and loaded sketchbooks, spilling out forgotten dreams.
From Agnes Durga, and Charles Bernard
and from modesty and pride, from anxiety and consideration.
From nails chewed to the nub, drawing blood and tears.
I am from family prayers of blood and bread.
from savory pepperpot, and strong-smelling curries, filling the kitchen with warm comfort.
From Immigrants in search of a new beginning, and from laboring men tending to the rice fields, working till dusk. Moss clinging to rocks in the trickling creek, filled with fish and frogs, and birds.
I am from the moments that leave strokes, joined together to create this unfinished masterpiece.