The Seasons I Came From
Updated: Feb 11
In winter, I came from princess birthday cakes
and bedtime stories.
Sledding in knitted mittens, warm milk and honey.
I came from black, arctic-cold mornings.
Sleepy eyes and cinnamon toast.
My brothers tiny fingers tickling my tummy
as grandma's dusty smelling car, drives us to school.
In spring, I came from rainy afternoons spent on the porch.
From shaky first bike rides and races around the lightbulb cul-de-sac.
Mom planting flowers, brown bunnies in our bushes.
I came from neighbourhood friendships and pink-lemonade stands.
I came from my brothers first ball games and caterpillars in the trees.
In summer, I came from car rides to the lake, swimming in the emerald water,
hiding from the heat. I came from family time
in a house with all the windows open.
I came from rising early and watching the sun set late.
From grandmas lemon loaf and hands that smelt the same.
I came from sprinklers, muddy grass, and climbing trees.
Liverwurst sandwiches for when the playing was done.
In the fall, I came from a neighbourhood that smelt like barbeque.
I came from raincoats and raking leaves.
Movie nights and lots of popcorn.
I came from walks in the city and views of a citrus coloured river valley.
From farmers markets and learning to cook pancakes.
I came from school supplies and nighttime cuddles.
I came from the seasons. Black crows and robins.
From messy hair and scraped knees. Celebrations
Of life, of death, of marriage. I came from a house built by my father
made home by my family.