"I Am" Poem

I am from the customary mosaic of avacado tiles
in the lobby of the YMCA downtown;
the smell of chlorine in the speckled wallpaper
and the clink of change dropping into the vending machine.
I am from early summer mornings spent on the broken plastic chairs;
watching the old men dissapeer into the locker rooms,
emerging with their speedos and swim caps and glorious wrinkled nipples.
I am from the whispers filling the room after Mary and Felix's mother
dropped them off in her slippers and bathrobe.

I am from the 40 minute bus ride to Silver Lake-
the smell of sunscreen and everyone's bagged lunch,
from the songs
about Shaving Cream and how Yo Momma Don't Wear No Socks.
I am from the window seat; city streets and bus-stops
succumbing to the corn fields and tall grasses of the
greenbelt.

I am from starting out slowly-
lonely.
Moseying the shady paths that connected the lake front
to the nature hut
and opened where kids played on rubber tires
that smoldered in the heat.
I am from sunlight
breaking shadows
through a canpoy resounding
with the screams of cicadas,
then silence.

I am from stuffed squirrels and the tiny teeth of Gar,
beehives and birch bark on display, and a tank filled
with black muk that once formed in the lake.
I am from the quiet circle
of wide eyes and open mouths,
insight and instruction.
Metamorphasis was real;
the mullberries fine to eat, and much safer
than dirty peaches and salami sandwhiches
left sitting in brown-paper-bags
in the sun.

I am from the rocks that hid the crayfish.
I am from Esmerelda's death in the art lodge
long, long, ago
and her ghost haunting the archery field
where the tight red feathers on the arrow
split the middle of my burning target-
for once.

I am from the beesting in my sister's eye
and I am from the molding picnic table where, in ritual,
she braided a noen plastic lanyard
over and over,
intricutely and in silence,
in the rain
behind tears.