I’m from harsh winters,

from numb legs struggling to stand on slippery ice,

from the spice of chai tea wafting throughout the house.

I’m from scalding summers,

from broken water balloon pieces scattering the yard,

and the way they popped and splashed when they hit the grass,

from cherry popsicle juice dripping down my chin.

I am from a uniformed family,

with blue plaid skirts and blouses buttoned all the way up,

from an invisible leash clipped to my cotton shirt collar.

I am from the porcelain dolls sat on my grandma’s shelf,

dressed up and ready for show,

glassy eyes showing true sorrow.

I am from secrets,

from the flag whooshing and swishing in the wind,

whispering independence from outside my window.

I am from rules,

and the steps I walked in the other direction.