I’m from music,

from the impassioned Beethoven sonatas,
the spirited Mozart concertos,
the frenzied Chopin etudes,
the intricate puzzle that is all of Bach’s work.

I’m from bushels of fresh-picked apples
and the ever-lingering scent of cinnamon sugared cider donuts.

I’m from playful banterings of “I love you more,” “I love you most,”
backyard barbecues on a warm summer night,
and frequent treks down the treacherous path to Bingham Falls.

I’m from Grandma Kate’s vibrant red hair,
my dad’s distinct chin,
my mom’s long, narrow nose.

I’m from the rocky shores of Cape Cod
and the vivid Madaket sunsets that burst with blinding color.

I’m from the night,
that magical time when everything is reborn in the dark.

I’m from drive, dedication, and intensity,
from common sense and laser-focus.

I’m from Friday night pizza with my grandparents,
from Saturday evenings spent watching Harry Potter with my brother
and Sunday mass at Blessed Sacrament.

Under my bed there is no dress box,
spilling old pictures,
a sift of lost faces
to drift beneath my dreams.
I am still from these moments -
snapped as I am budding,
a blossom growing on my family tree.