I am from 90's stereos surrounded with shelves of rock albums,
From packs of Marlboro cancer sticks, and cases filled with emptied glass bottles
I am from the verandas blanketed with sandy footprints,
Rusty gates used as soccer posts,
And cracked windows letting rays of sun in.
I am from gardens with flowers ranging from daises to daffodils, and too many others to name in between.
I am from late afternoon motorcycle rides to white sand beaches, and the curiosity of the dead cat
From Barretto and Dias
I am from the stubborn attitudes, and hypocritical words
From the strength my father held when he looked for opportunity,
To the love my mother offered when nothing seemed right
I am from Sunday masses, where prayers aren’t really meant, rather said in repetition, and a service is the only time anything is ever tranquil.
I’m from a country where freedom and confinement go hand in hand,
Glasses of shandy and sweet vanilla ice cream
From the “be optimistic” to the “you realize that would never happen”
I am from the now deserted bedroom,
The nightstand gathers dust, and it’s glass sliding doors hold albums with fading Polaroid remains of my childhood,
As well the locked closet contains presents my parents received on the 8th of May,
Papers my father carries with him to the bank in the city,
And the quarter empty bottle of tea rose perfume my mother adores.
It contains the gold jewelry my sister and I have yet to wear,
And the documents stating the relation between my brother, my sister, and I.
I am from it all,
The too loud laughs at 4am and
The sentences wished to be unsaid, now that they are,
The remains of a bittersweet childhood .