I’m from
purple, ribbons to strides.
From the fake smiles that are hidden tears.
I am from the strong man, the cancer fighter,
whose last breathes I remember as if they were an hour ago.
I am from PanCAN and Siteman,
from doctors and nurses.
I am from the Old Mines wise,
and the Hillsboro crazies.
From the “Be Happy” and the “It’s ok to cry’s.”
I’m from the “he’s still with you,”
to “he’s with Uncle Tim now,”
and with tears rolling down my face, I wipe them off once more.
I’m from Catherine and Jerry,
from beans and ham with cornbread.
From the legs my grandpa lost to Osteoporosis,
from the leap my dad took to find peace.
On my dresser you will find worn out pictures,
forgotten faces that slipped from my grasp.
I am from those memories,
That brought me to this point.
From the apple that fell under the next tree.