Where I'm From

I'm from the kitchen,

from Barilla

and wooden spoons.

I'm from the oven,

black on the outside,

burning fire on the inside.

I'm from the basil plantations,

the garden where tomatoes grow

to pick the best ones

to make the sauce.

I'm from family dinners,

and Christmas presents,

from Maria and Miguel,

from the Aragon family.

I'm from screaming,

shrieking,

and the tobacco smelling bed-sheets.

From "don't touch that knife"

and "be organized".

I'm from a family

who was forced

to be Christian,

but lets me be what I want,

from seafood pasta and cream,

a forbidden combination.

From the talks in the car

about politics with mom,

the back pains,

and hard-workers.

I'm from that small tree

where each leaf

is a different color,

from that short branch

where my leaf stands there... alone.