I am from pastels,
from finger paint and crayons.
I am from the dust that settles under a marimba’s wooden keys
powdery enough to make one sneeze)
I am from the orchid,
the blades of grass on the school lawn
whose body would bend
as kids whistled with it.
I’m from red velvet cupcakes and hard contact lenses,
from 1975 and Iggy Azalea
I’m from the derps and the princesses
from the abgs and boba gangsters.
I’m from Hold you down, like I'm givin' lessons in physics
and other ratchet songs.
I’m from Pots and Basins,
fried rice and oyster pancakes.
From the journey overseas my grandparents travelled
the coffee my father sipped to work through the night.
On the night stand lays a notebook,
filled with doodles,
a list of old crushes
to the recalls of nightmares.
I am from those moments –
glitter loose in the wind
aimlessly landing where they will