I am from the sandbox in my front yard.

From the swings on the swingset my dad and I built.

I am from the boatyard and sailboats

from the ocean and swimming pools.

 

I am from the dirt under my fingernails.

From tiny tadpoles and huge green bullfrogs.

I am from the old, weathered hammock that swung me over the edge of the pond.

From gardens and the fairies that danced.

 

I am from my camp up North

summer nights sitting on the dock with my dad.

From midnight walks and early morning strolls

I am from my little green, scooby-doo fishing pole

that caught my first fish.

From boo-boos and band-aids,

From blood and sharp gravel

I am from sweat droplets and hot summer sun.

Sunday mornings in the camper with Puppa and Nana.

 

I am from the fire gear, a blanket wrapped around me.

From the smokey training buildings and the Burnbox,

from the steam and clinging black soot.

 

I am from the thunderstorm that raised me out of bed

from lightning shows and the Northern Lights.

I am from the red, fallen leaves and the owls that sing behind my house.

From tree branches and holes I dug by my own hand.

 

I am from the back porch

playing my guitar to the woods.

I am from Ben who taught me to take it like a man.

From pushing me to do a wheelie on my bike.

 

I am from the sheets flapping around,

from the wind that blows through them.

I am from The Golden Compass, in the shade of the big oak.

I am from the firefighting magazines, pages flipped over and over.

 

I am from the bourbon whiskey bottles in my shed

from broken promises and broken dreams.

I am from the fear of falling asleep

for reasons unexplainable to anyone but me.

I am from the broken glass that long ago sat full

Never to know what it is like to be whole again.