I am from un-made beds and clothes everywhere except for my closet.
From jewelry and hairpins tangled in the carpet
Along with clothes-hangers and markers scattered all over the floor.
I am from colorful roses dancing around the green grass;
Beautiful pink buds that turn into juicy pomegranates,
From dead leaves ready to be jumped into.
I am from the old mayor of Foster City
And elderly saying “hi”
The new park with a basketball court that can make you a hoop star:
From Steven driving his car like a thunderbolt past my house.
I am from grandma Taybeh, who makes our Friday dinners:
From all my moms sisters: Mahnaz, Shiva and Mirta, who are my fashion consultants
And from mommy and daddy who I love dearly.
I am from “I told you not to” and “you’re grounded”;
from “degeh nakon” to “barekalla” – things my parents say all the time.
I am for chelo kabob with rice and saffron,
Salmon and “coreshteh carafs”- the delicious foods that make my mouth water
I am for the journal that I have had since I was in second grade
Which is tucked in my room,
Under the warm bed sheets and blankets
In a little box with a lock.
