(a poem by Amelia Opsahl '21, written for Karen Suchenski's Humanities 8 class)
I am from dusty New York Times newspapers in a precarious stack, displaced shoes and the smell of fried eggs.
I am from large, steep, grass hills and leather couches covered with scratches and dirt from the excited feet of crazy dogs.
I’m from wilted mint leaves whose care is always being forgotten, and apple trees who’ve never actually produced any fruit,
from late night jogs pushed to the very last minute and marathon monopoly games.
I am from argumentative older brothers, sickly looking goldfish, and ancient, beloved cats.
I am from poorly managed compost bins and a rotting wooden picnic table covered in ivy.
I’m from always running at least 10 minutes late.
I am from“don’t forget to say thank you” and “expiration dates are just a guideline,”
from long church services every Sunday and the promise of donuts to follow.
I’m from small towns in New Hampshire, with Life cereal, frozen pizza and grilled everything.
From 6’7” uncles and lanky cousins, family reunions always spent at the basketball court.
I’m from soft handmade afghans and delicate porcelain plates hung crookedly on the wall alongside framed photos of artwork from the first grade.
I am from school pictures in dusty frames, cherished like treasure, waiting to be replaced by the images from the years to come.