I am from pavement. $\quad$ From the womb of the night  $\quad$ and the caress of the day. I am from a good book, $\quad$ from sweet caffeine    $\quad$ and a hopeful dream. I am from the mountains $\quad$ (the ones I cannot recall) $\quad$ and the woods (the ones I can). I am from my brother’s teachings,  $\quad$ from the oak tree reaching $\quad$ and summer’s relentless beatings. I am from the family fireplace. $\quad$ (Red, warm.  $\quad$ It smelled of long-gone winters.) I am from my favorite blanket, $\quad$ and endless autumn rain $\quad$ whose falling promised better plans. I am from springtime $\quad$ and car rides, $\quad$ from emerald and evergreen. I am from pen and paper, $\quad$ and the hours we spent $\quad$ locked in battle without rest. I am from spelling tests, $\quad$ from “Not-there-yet”s $\quad$ from stuffed bears and armchairs. My memories shall forever be draped $\quad$ in satin and lace, $\quad$ rusted and golden with time. I am from my mother’s eyes, $\quad$ from juvenile cries $\quad$ and [[little white lies]] – Morgan Poole