I am from tight-knit relationships with family,

from inheriting the middle name Patricia from both grandmas.
I am from teary-eyed conversations with cousins
from after church laughs.

I am from picking raspberries at the cabin up north,
from an empty bowl and stained fingers.
I am from knee scrapes and mosquito bites,
from hearing Grandma say, “It’ll be gone before you get married.”

I am from a Catholic grade school,
from tucked in shirts and no nail polish.
I am from a public high school,
from new faces and maze-like hallways.

I am from sleeping with the fall breeze whispering through the window,
from pillows covering half the queen sized bed.
I am from collecting blankets as soft as a kitten,
from lighting sweet-scented candles.

I am from exchanging recipes,
from finding them on Buzzfeed.
I am from baking with my mom and grandmas,
from licking the batter-covered spatula.

I am from chomping on Grandpa’s freshly popped popcorn,
from Grandma’s homemade rolls on Thanksgiving.
I am from making buffalo chicken dip with my mom before Packer games,
from mashing avocados for guacamole with my brothers.

I am from family time,
from newly discovered foods.
I am from comfort,
from blankets, pillows, and candles.