I am from cold tile floors,

coated with purple Fabuloso. 

I am from wet cement drying in the backyard;

2 pairs of hands hollowed out in it.

I am from small, but meaningful Christmases, 

when a birthday and holiday align

 

I am from a small town south.

A town I’ve been to, but never seen.

I am from sweet coffee in the mornings,

from 5am alarms,

and goodbyes in the dark.

I am from the hot, and cold desert-

a trek I will never have to make.

 

I am from smelly goalkeeper gloves after a hard game.

from my brother’s sternness and empathy

from his silence

from his love 

 

I am from my mother’s love of simplicity

from my father’s hard work

 

I am from those before me who never thought of such a life.

from those whose only goal was to eat.

I am from those who never got a chance.

from those who died trying.

 

I am from them and they are from me,

Both running through our veins.