Where I'm From

I'm from a cul-de-sac in a beautiful city.

I'm from Germany. I'm from Italy. I'm from New York.

I'm from climbing trees and scraped knees.

I'm from fire trucks and adventures soiled with soot.

I'm from cigarette smoke and beer foam.

I'm from manners and utmost respect.

I'm from grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles in a big house with big voices.

I'm from training wheels and two-wheelers, broken teeth on the pavement.

I'm from giggles and make-believe and walking to school.

I'm from sarcasm and joking and hurt feelings.

I'm from the smell of garlic and the accents of emigrants.

I'm from two war veterans. Two countries. One war.

I'm from the love of two parents, each broken and carrying their own scars.

I'm from calloused hands that worked two jobs but never let me forget it.

I'm from shouting and shattering and lying and leaving.

I'm from trying to sleep through it all.

I'm from a broken home.

I'm from growing up and moving on.

I'm from poor choices and endless regrets.

I'm from a man, and a law, and a cross.

I'm from purity and sinlessness and willingness and offering.

I'm from bloodshed, curtain torn, rock rolled away.

I'm from redemption and wholeness and beauty for ashes.

I'm from a heritage of holiness.

I'm from wearing white.

I'm from my father's house.