I am from flower patterned wallpaper—

plastered to a creaky house filled with love of a four person family.

Having game and movie nights every Wednesday.

I am from the nickname “tornado Anna”—
strong headed with whiny refusals and

a constant string of “no means no” and “every good thing must come to an end.”

I am from the prominent pine planted in the yard—

hands and clothes coated by sticky sap.

Resistance to climbing down to the world that had become strict bedtimes and arguments over homework.

I am from my Nana’s worn hands—

guiding me into a woman of respect

through knitting, piano, and cooking lessons each visit to the brick house covered in birdhouses.

I am from a tired mind—

battles of correcting the negatives.

Tears in rooms with leather couches repeatedly answering “how are you feeling today?”

I am from moving day—

the same house once filled with love now surrounded by packed boxes,

waving goodbye to our childhood as our home waves back through the swinging shutters.

I am still from the flower patterned wallpaper—

replaced by a painted grey wall attached to another creaky house.

No more game and movie nights every Wednesday.