I come from

I come from coal,
a welding rod and steel,​​​​​​​ ​paintbrushes, full moons,
and asbestos filled lungs,

I descend from the jungles of Vietnam,
the First Cavalry
and lost photographs of washing
the blood of heroes out of a helicopter.

I come from silver stock pots of Roma tomatoes,
wooden spoons, and Virginia Slims,
from the rim of blue circling the brown
of my grandmother’s eyes.

I am rooted in libraries, crossword puzzles,
and percolated coffee,​​​​​​​​​ hospital bed sides, post-chemo lunches,
from a mind that sometimes wants to forget ​​​​​​​ ​and a heart that forgets nothing.

I come from the moment ​​​​​​​​I let go of the hands that held me my whole life