I’m from cool hardwood floors and
a wild, overgrown yard,
from the smell of mothballs and wool,
and itchy blue tights
and white polo shirts under plaid skirts.
I’m from crockpot dinners and homemade pizzas and
fighting the dog for the corner seat on the couch.
I am from leather ball gloves
and the snap of a perfect catch
as fireflies signal the coming of summer nights.
I am from hard shoes and hairspray.
Glitter and wigs.
I am from straight arms
and straight backs
and feet that won’t stop running rhythms
no matter how many times someone yells “Not in the kitchen!”
I am from knee socks and hiking boots,
flag ceremonies and made up names,
midsummer campfires and hikes and camp outs
as the hot summer night slowly cools off.
From scout camps and sing alongs,
box ovens and dutch ovens, and
walking in the creek, and
sticky melting ice cream
(that was never really frozen to begin with)
I am from late nights and early mornings,
lost sleep or no sleep
and sudden awakenings to the bells
shrieking another emergency call.
From flashing lights, blaring sirens, broken glass, blood.
I’m from training and drilling,
and checkoffs and checklists, and
bunker gear that slowly comes to fit like a glove.
I am from the smell of smoke and the heat of flames,
from the steady weight
of my pack against my lower back,
into the world beyond
the little suburban home that I’ve come from