Where Are You From — “I Am” Poem exercise

I am from back yards without fences and small, shabby corner stores shaded by trees who have seen generations pass than the sidewalks beneath them with gaping cracks, and the cratered pavement, who know what it means to survive many cold winters left bare only to emerge again with life.

I am from the olive tree and the sprouts of chick peas, whose bodies sacrificed their creation to nourish me before I was old enough to discern how odd this would be to my school friends who visited, and who gave me the first literal sense of bitter taste in my mouth before the world could.

I am from being a wallflower amongst passionate conversation, gossip in the kitchen and formidable sense of pride.

I am from the grape leaf and squash thoughtfully prepared repetitiously, filled with rice and lamb.

I am from New York and I’m of the middle east, and other parts unknown to me still.

I am from green cards, assimilation imposed by the fear of my elders, and the resilience of those who came before me who made my life possible from their sacrifice.

I am from cherry-wooden rosemary beads soaked in the holy waters of Jerusalem and tied with a green piece of cloth soaked in the Jordan River and I keep them somewhere I’ve told no one about— somewhere safe.