I am from
the father who didn’t want me
long before I was a seed germinating in my mother’s womb
I am from
the mountains
my visions, my memories
etched in stone the color of autumn leaves
red, pink-hued, sandstone
I am from
the stories untold
the ache of not belonging
of being alone
of being unwanted
I am from
the stars that glisten
hope
redemption
possibility
I am from
the heart of a woman
strong
proud
ferocious
uncertain
who knows without question
what it means to love
my children
my grandchildren
and slowly, myself
I am from
old stories
that stick to me like surgeon’s glue
that hold me fast
to places, people, things
that are no longer mine
I am from
the stories yet written
of pen and paper
of belonging and longing
of place and time
of being me
injured
resilient
flawed
perfect
— By Evelyn Donato (2022)