I’m from Sharpie and Crayola,

from the vibrant washable paint that covered every inch of my body.

I’m from the avocado tree,

from the juicy pink grapefruits that hung over the side of the fence.

I’m from backyard lemonade stands,

though my only customer was my mother.

I’m from the smell of sulfur,

from the brown and white striped smokestack.

I’m from the canal,

home to the many manatees to which I threw cabbage.

I am from the many wonders of Lake Nancy Road,

from the magenta clovers that filled the meadow.

From the half-sunken wooden dock,

from the frogs I captured in butterfly nets.

From the tupperware,

filled with either orange salamanders or wild blueberries.

From the tire swing that hung from the tall oak,

from the stories written on sheets of birch bark.

I am from those moments,

despite the change 

that only time can tell.