I am from crochet and curry powder,

From baking supplies in the pantry

To the sound of game show filming

And dirty laundry.

I am from my mothers vitiligo,

From her tattoos, from her food and soul,

To the tiny mole on the small of her back.

I am from

My friends,

From people in New York,

And Los Angeles,

And royal oak,

And everywhere else

I’ve stopped along the way.

I am from the sun on my blonde best friends hair,

From the blue-gray-green of my boyfriends eyes,

The freckles on my emily's arms,

The salt-sea smell of one friend,

Even the dye in one’s hair,

That I dyed mine to match,

So I could remember her better.

I am from the flour in a kitchen,

the sound of butter sizzling on a pan,

and shouts of

‘Behind’

and random orders read off a screen.

I am from all of this

And so much more.