I’m from Christmas and brown hair
from Steve and Deborah.
I’m from the sharp-witted,
and the sharp-tongued.
From every type of cookie imaginable from my grandma’s kitchen
to knowing every wildflower on Mt. Tamalpais.
I’m from the natural world,
roaring waterfalls, towering granite cliffs, and peaceful meadows.
I’m from the Owen’s, and the Walkup’s,
from chocolate chip cookies and Whisky Pie
From the father who rolled a jeep when he was 16
to the sister who picks up deadly scorpions and lived.
I'm from the gallery of photos on the wall
that greet me every morning like the morning sun.
I am from Grandpa Owen's fishing yarns
and the gavel he had carved from William Penn's tree.
I am from Grandpa Walkup's radio that no longer sings to me.
I'm from flamenco guitar flowing through my fingers with lightning speed.
I'm from the depths of the cool clear water which cover the earth
like sugar on a lollipop.
I am from warm summer days with gentle breezes
that whisper of trout swimming in the high mountain lakes.