The One On Where I'm From.

Dear Lover,

I am my parents' Fourth of July.
And the beach songs sung from their shoulders.
I am from stargazing in the beds of trucks.
My mother's finger pointing.
And stealing sips of water from grass stained cups.
I come from between the bent iron bars and into the Wandering Jew vines.
From Tang and hors d'oeuvres.
I am a braided strand hidden between locks of hair.
And that sugary wood aftertaste of summer.
I'm from impromptu tap dances on kitchen floors.
Waiting for orange danishes in the oven.
From A, You're Adorables and Now I Lay Me Down To Sleeps.
I am nose stuck in a book.
And road trips.
And lost trails to Ancient Ones.
Am awkward and lovesick and quirky and moody.
I am bike stand leaning on beach sand.
And scribbles on heels.
I am these stories that unfold.
And Thoreau's lost hound, bay horse and turtle-dove.
From festivals with blankets and barefeet and sways with la la lahs.
Staring, legs shoulder length apart to stare at the splatters.
I am Stevie Wanderlust.
With this jade bracelet.
Looking for adventure, and tapping my thumbnail between my front teeth, imagining.
And the echo of my brother's laugh is in everything I do.

Love,
Me.