Where I'm from

I am from late-night stargazing,
telescope on the porch.
From the smell of sweet hay in my friend's hayloft.
From frostbitten toes, and bright red noses.
I am from cold days spent on a snowboard,
from “So, you’re not goofy or regular, oh, you ride both.”
I am from stacks of snowboard stuff lying around.
I am from painful scorpions, that leave long bruises as reminders.

I am from fresh carrots and tomatoes picked from the garden.
From the smoky air around the wood-fired pizza oven.
I am from the smell of Old Spice, and lacquer from the shop when hugging my Dad.
From German phrases tossed at random into conversation,
confusing those around me when I say, “dunka,” the German word for thanks.
I am from fast bike rides, with the wind whipping through my hair.
From long FaceTime calls, with those who can’t make it from faraway places.
I am from “She’s 13 going on 20,” and “Are you ever going to stop growing?”
From huge family reunions, with seemingly more people appearing each time.
I am from flashlight tag on the beach,
from cold noses, and sandy feet.
From entertaining myself by making everything rhyme.

I am from ever-present mint lip balm, in the car, in my pocket, lying on the counter.
From the smell of Flovent and Albuterol.
I am from baking bread with Grandpa,
and learning how to cook other family recipes too.
From “You’ve always got your nose in a book,”
and shopping bags full of books for the library,
and from “Here come the Orvises” from the librarians.
I am from the salty, nostalgic smell of the ocean,
from the feeling of the gritty sand between my toes.

I am from family is first, always.
From naming every chicken, and loving them like family.
I am from Sunday morning breakfast.
I am from tripping over imaginary obstacles,
from long hugs, and Eskimo kisses. 
I am from most things are temporary, family is forever.

Rocky_O

VT

17 years old

More by Rocky_O

  • 17th Birthday


    A year older.

    A year wiser. 

    Time slips out from my grasp like the oceans tides, 

    Natural yet terrifying in the most nauseating way, 

    I’m sick of growing up.
  • Love Lost

    Love is felt most when its leaving 

    We cry for what once was 

    What could’ve been

    For the people We once were 

    Watching as it leaves

    Weary eyes, and tired feet 
  • Oh, Bird!

    Oh, Bird, tell me how does it feel to float on wings of ivory and gold?
    What is it like to have the world at your fingertips? 
    Tell me of the world beyond these acres, 
    Of the thrilling adventures in which you sing.