Where I'm From

I am from flour.

From bread and butter.

From the tree with a swing in the yard,

From the small red palm tree that refuses to grow.

I’m from my uncle’s lake house,

From my grandmothers apartment,

The only places where my family reunites.

I am from the jokesters and the pranksters,

From Juan Carlos, and Jorge, and Eduardo.

I am from my dad’s side of the family,

From long dinner tables at family trips,

From passing the salt all the way down,

And then back up.

I am from going to church on Christmas Eve,

And not returning until the following year.

From Medellin and Bogota,

From Ajiaco and Bandeja Paisa.

From moving away from our home

Into a different house.

I am from the shelves of photo albums,

Filled with colorful memories,

Waiting to be looked at and remembered.

I am from those moments.

A tree that continues to grow,

Despite not being watered often.