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From Family
I am from my father’s arm swinging an axe to cut the logs to heat our home.
I smell the dry, flakey sawdust from the creation of our table,
the fresh, earthy mulch filling crevices of our yard.
I am from my mother's busy hands cooking dinner, cleaning dishes, and helping with homework.
I taste the candy like sweetness yet pepper like spice in the stir fry for dinner,
the treats she recieves from students after putting in eight hours of work each day.
I am from my brother’s basketball bouncing and shaking the floors of our house.
I hear his shoes squeak on the court as he sprints down the sidelines,
his piercing yet playful whistle escaping from his lips to the tune of “We are the Champions.”
I am from my little brother’s new beats on his drum and his childish chuckle.
I see his wrist and fingers move up and down with the rhythm of his drumsticks,
the smile growing wider on his face until his mouth bursts open in laughter.
I am from my grandma’s comfort and her blue quilt wrapped around me as we watch a movie.
I feel her soft hand holding mine as we walked through the zoo when I was five,
her warm body embracing mine in a hug.
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