I am from TV towers,
from Kitchener buns and fluorescent zinc cream.
I am from the North wind and cracked footpaths.
(Pebbly, dusty and hard under bare summer-toughened feet)
I am from the fig tree,
leafy, complicated, secret, cool;
the kikuyu grass spongy, prickly and never quite green.
I am from Tea at five and Works hard but drinks too much,
from Ann and Ernest and Sybil.
I am from job lists and Christmas baking
and pretending everything is OK.
From Do what I say and not what I do
and Careful of the popcorn husks.
I am from church on Sunday.
Jesus loves me this I know and singing comfort to myself.
I am from Wallaroo and Wondai, Pasties and Neapolitan ice cream.
The beloved daughter who traveled the world.
The lottery number father to Vietnam and the uncle who lucked out too.
I am from the top bedroom, the piano room and a box of old black and whites in a wooden box.
From letters and frames and an album on my bookcase with too few photographs
and which sometimes makes me cry.