I am from the weeds that have proceeded to encase my home

To the dreary house that has grown weary and succumbs to the weeds

I am from the white fence with its color as bright as a field of cotton

To the sunflowers that will slowly perish in the fall

I am from the breeze that courses through the ivory leaves

From the smell in my mother's kitchen

To the delectable taste of her warm, golden pastries

I am from the crack of a baseball bat

To the woosh as it flies past my beaming face

I am from the warm embrace of my mother’s arms

To the lawn that thrived when it began to rain

I am from a mother who uses the weeds as a shield for her heart

To the people who weave through her protection only to leave her abandoned

I am from a butterfly that lands on a blood red rose

To the dark colored cat who swats it away