I am from photos,
from gold and sugar
I am from the whirring of an engine early in the morning
I am from the vegetables in my grandmas garden,
the bamboo on my windowsill.
I am from Chrismas’ and Thanksgivings at my grandma’s house
and loud laughs that echo,
from my mother and father.
I am from perseverance
From “you better greet everyone in the room with a kiss or hug.”
I’m from Queens,
From seven curry and sweet rice.
From the swinging in hammocks in the backyard,
the cousin sleepovers,
and the startling weekend mornings of loud soca and cleaning.
I am from dusty albums in my grandma’s attic.
