by Zinnia Hull '23
I am from a sharp rooster crow at 5:00 am, from the crinkle of wrapping paper on Christmas mornings in front of a fire, from shrill shrieks on the trampoline.
I am from the thundering of feet through the wall, the greasy smell of hash browns and bacon, the crumble of muffins.
I am from the thick perfumed scent of the lilacs, the snap of the birch bark between my fingers, the bubbling of the creek from the shadowy woods, from the sweet flood on my tongue of lemonade on the porch.
I am from the clashing of pots and pans, a “thank you” curling through the air, the cold, wet hand sanitizer on the way out.
I am from the leftover frosting from birthday cake at church, from the crunch of the sugar dusting on top of apple cider donuts, from the peals of laughter on a cold Halloween .
I am from bare dorm rooms and crazy dancing, from the exhale after stealing first in softball.
I am from the floury bottoms of English muffins at the market and the traditional paper crowns at back-to-school dinners.
From the dentist during math class, from searching for a lost pencil, gone forever.
I’m from “I love my family” and “the dark tastes like lemon pie.”
From the dreary sick days on the couch, from gripping the arm of the chair during Survivor on Tuesdays, from the piercing feeling of the claws of a kitten.
From overstuffed jars of silly things we said, from the sting of a cut from a sloppily made paper bouquet during a marriage ceremony in kindergarten.
I’m from sweaty school buses on the way to a field trip, from big sisters, from the tiramisu at a formal dinner.
I am from a row of family albums on the shelf, from trying to remember the names of all my cousins, from a trip to Nantucket no more.
I am sometimes from Greenfield, Massachusetts, sometimes from Snow Farm.
But I am always from “first one there is all the pretty things,” from sleepy goodnights, from breathless singing, from wishes, tears, yelling, kisses, smiles.