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  • Katie Frieheit

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.




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