I am from silver knot earrings
From hand-me-downs and the inflatable swimming pool
Running around in a circle
Floaties blue and making my arms sweat
Creating a current to float away on.
I am from braids pulled slightly too tight
But not minding
Because mom’s hands smell like fresh tea
And Pantene shampoo.

I am from cast iron pans

From sweet onions sizzling
From fold in the flour

And don’t overmix
From sitting at the kiddy Thanksgiving table

And three big sisters

Who made faces at me

And asked dad to name me Slink.
I am from that time Gabbi told me
To stop wearing diapers because it was immature
And I was two, so I did;
I am from everyone makes mistakes from the time they are born.

I am from U-Hauls
That smell like burnt rubber

And take my bed to places
Crowded with greedy stepsisters

Who threaten to die if they have to do something hard.
I am from my last sister leaving for Smith

And trying to embrace the new presence of real milk in the fridge.
I am from dirty snow, and cat hair on every sweater I own,
And forgetting the yellow house,
Because it hurts too much to think about.