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Where I'm From
I am from devouring sweet, plump mulberries
on a crisp spring day. Staining my fingers
with each syrupy bite...
From observing the Northern Lights with my father
on our stained back porch we sat,
peaceful and at ease.
I am from, “there’s always room for more,”
as I stuffed my face with my grandmother’s
gooey, cherry pies...
From the crackling wood,
the noise the rich wood created
in the dead of the night.
I am from tranquilly drifting through clouds,
awoken by
coffee brewing on a Sunday morning...
From snapping photos of my friends
on my shiny new Polaroid
hoping to remember spirited nights, I surely won’t.
I am from the sweet, crisp fragrance of rain,
gently creating puddles on the ground.
The delicate splashes carelessly grazing the lake...
I am from the day Kueyon played
Canon in D for our piano recital,
sobbing from its beauty.
From exploring the depths
of forests, abandoned buildings, and the quiet of night
hoping to find bliss...
I am from devouring sweet, plump mulberries
on a crisp spring day. Staining my fingers
with each syrupy bite.
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