Where I Am From

I am from the studio in which I spent hours rehearsing last night.

I am of from the smell of icy hot being rubbed into sore muscles,

The rhythmic tapping of pointe shoes on gray marled floor.

I am from the Nutcracker music I have cemented in my brain all Christmas season,

Constantly marking out the steps that I danced the day before.

I am of the smile I see on the ballet master’s face when I land a perfect set of pirouettes,

Or the feeling I get when I know I just jumped higher than I ever had before.

I am from the impromptu little dance sessions I have in my living room

That fill the otherwise idle moments of life.

I am from wherever there is classical music in need of a ballerina’s touch.

I am from the rosy rays of sun that flit across the horizon in paradise,

vanishing beyond the surrounding mountains.

I am from the paradise on earth that sits not in heaven,

but on the south slope of the mountain.

I am from the brisk hike up to Panorama Point, the sprint to the top,

And the neverending desire to keep running until I reach the summit.

I am from the perfect pine trees that spring up from alpine meadows,

Both in this state and across the ocean in Slovakia.

I am of rapidly rushing and gently splashing streams,

The kind that would draw me to explore the forest till hours past dinnertime.

I am from wherever there is a soft breeze and the sweet smell of flowers.

I am from the silence that comforts me

when I first wake up to my burgundy painted-velvet walls.

I am from the overgrown rose bush that has begun to creep through my window.

I am from the discussions about politics, fiction, and science I share with my father,

The best way to gather knowledge of pure substance.

I am from my mother’s cooking and stories of her childhood,

Both unparalleled in taste and the latter in insight.

I am from the twinkle of wind chimes that play outside all night.

I am of the little quips I exchange back and forth with my brother

Although sometimes tiring, always amusing.

I am from wherever my family calls their home, be that here or anywhere else.

I am from the Seattle skyline I see from my window.

I am from the twisting village road I see in the morning halfway across the globe.

I am from the snow-capped mountain rising beyond the interstate on the way to school.

I am from the comfort of my beanbag chair, but also the desire to reach out

And watch people to make it past the Moon.

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