8. 19. 08
I’m from The Valley,
By the light of the moon.
I am from the Chair of Knight, and a mostly Mozart morning,
And a Rugrats tent—the scene of the crime.
I’m from hemadsorption and tiny bubbles,
And wanting to know the first question, right here, right now.
I am from Olka and Joanna.
I’m from Ty in the toilet and Philip’s head in the doorknob,
Ace bandages and Fazoli’s breadsticks for two.
I am from Alice Deejay in a pink house with a yellow submarine.
I’m from Steve-not-Donovan,
And Hide-and-Seek in the dark.
I’m from DDP vs. Skip-It,
And the Silver Maple Gum Tree roots.
I’m from sugar and cinnamon,
Like sand through the hourglass.
I am from the leaky pouch,
From pickled cucumbers and root beer Dum Dums.
I am from Boys vs. Girls and too much TV tag.
I’m from Robbie Eggers’ Voila,
And strike, spare, 92.
I am from mattresses gone wrong,
And Slip’nThud. It was peer pressure?
I am from the cupboard under the stairs,
And the pennies under the bleachers.
I am from green and gold.
I am from the shaving cream war,
And the mysterious chimney pet.
I’m from Saturday morning piano lessons after no practice,
And a Frappuccino to celebrate passing the song anyway.
I’m from the year of the foolishly wise,
And hoping to stay wisely foolish,
Because, most of all,
I am from knowing the limits.
