Where I’m From: A Leaf With Skeleton Veins (Yolande)

I am from a leaf with skeleton veins.

From the higgledy piggledy house with the marble fireplace.

I am from miniatures and singing music hall songs like “Sally in our Alley” 

and “We’ll Meet Again,”

but we never did. 

I am from being nearsighted and seeing with insect-vision.

I am from a mother who believed in fairies.

I am from England, but I’m not only English.

I am from my granny’s apple and blackberry crumble, 

windfalls in the garden.

I am from sepia photographs packed under mum’s specter of a bed. 

We fade, crease, our curator gone. I whisper, “Look at me. I’m alive.”

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