(after George Ella Lyon’s “Where I’m From”)

i come from
thick fading see-through-vinyl covered couches
and christmas lights that never come down.

silver crosses and images of Jesus
punctuating ideas of how we be

an industrial sized reused metal folger’s can
beside abuela’s stove
filled with manteca
and the brown debris of every meal
fried over and over
with that same clarified lard
(and sometimes a struggling cockroach)

“the family room”
that was off limits
except for parties
or for when we were in really big trouble

n-scale model railroad trains,
ceramic collector plates,
and miniature carousel horses
adorning the wood fireplace

Ranger Rick magazine
and a plant named Sammy
that showed me extrasensory perception
and interspecies communication was real

hand loupes and field guides,
advocating for wildflowers the adults called “weeds”
begging parents NOT to cut the grass

backyard trees, bellies, baskets, ground,
full to bursting with apricots and plums

insistent running bamboo
tenaciously shooting up through a lawn
that refused domestication.

i come from Regina Mirella,
she who must be obeyed,
hand painted technicolor spin art bedazzled clothing,
J’s Pet Shop
and the training to safely capture and bring any stray dogs home

captive bred exotic baby birds
lovingly held with exquisite care,
and the well practiced knowing
of how to check and fill a crop
with warm handmade formula,
just enough to nurture an unfeathered alien dinosaur
into a fully plumed mealy amazon, african grey,
or red and gold macaw

hundreds of beloved animals
filling all the empty, abraded spaces
in my heart and dysregulated family home

feathers, fur, scales, fins, whiskers and wonder,

so many lives left to suffer and die
at the hands of unsupervised children
left responsible without support

I come from the travesura de Tomás

“Go pick out a belt,
and if it’s not good enough,
I’m going to use the animal belt.”

defiant wildness, mexican street law,
the love of the fight
and the fight for survival

“mija, i’m coming to get you”

followed by radio silence
for years at a time
on loop
until that child became an unrecognized young adult

adoration without conditions;
unwavering loyalty left nowhere to land
but a cafe brown teddy bear
with white tufted belly,
the only tangible relic
of a dad i used to hug

Shadow Hills to Beverly Hills

horses, goats,
a humble ranch with just-enough
(including big brother, big sister and father)
to a same-day escape to more-than-plenty;
grandparents, just me and mom

i come from 4035 Baywood Street,
“Frogtown/Toonerville”

mariachi y musica ranchera,
always full volume on the weekends,
heavy buttered rolled tortillas
warmed over an open flame

neighbors chatting in spanish
over chain-link fences,
mexican kids with silver lined teeth
playing soccer on the street

a chain-link, rusted barbed-wire wall
prohibiting access to the cement-scarred river

i come from longing and loneliness –
abuela Lupe
and the creativity and loss
of finding a way to communicate
across a love that did not share a language

a giant glass jar of chiles picantísimos
permanently placed on the dining room table,
so hot only abuela should touch them

“¡Cállate! ¡Siéntate! ¡Comer!”

Abuelo Carlos’s eyes,
a perfect mirror of my own,
memorialized with oil to canvas,
warming the living room
with his one dimensional framed presence

my family,
that i never would meet in the flesh
but whose face i recognize now
in that of my only son

Tlaquepaque
the ceramic alma de jalisco,
papel picado, maguey, blue agave
and the warm rains,
rayos y truenos from june to september

i come from 636 Beverly Dr
and a ferocious fawn colored floppy-eared doberman named Kalila
whose trust was won via kibble
and would defend those she chose as family
to the death

“target of opportunity!”
and dangers of leaving your nalgas unguarded

i come from hundred year old walnut trees
filled with crows and ravens,
all the cars on the cul-de-sac,
littered with dents
from walnuts flung from beaks
to crack them on the pavement below

Turtle Island.
Anáhuac.
this place.
here.

brown dirt and the California sunshine
that has shined on my people for millennia,
long before California,
long before united states,
long before México.

I come from Nona Mirella’s coveted spinach
always with the perfect amount of garlic,
and just enough salt

an abundance of elaborate vegan delicacies,
prepared just for me;
served with half-sincere side eye
“just what i need. a vegan granddaughter”
and
“if only you dressed more like so-and-so’s daughter,
now SHE is a classy young woman.”

a single bedtime story
accompanied by a solitary square
of pound-plus pure dark chocolate
left to melt beneath my tongue

rosemary, olive oil and roma tomatoes

warm Florentine green soup
and perfectly ridged al dente rigatoni,
generously coated in homemade pomodoro

the octagonal aluminum mokka pot
gurglingly announcing
espresso is served

Florence Italy,
the Arno River,
crowded bridges over sun dappled waters,
and the boat that carried my maternal grandmother
far from her widowed mother and sisters,
to a land much farther than england

i come from Grandfather Roy;

the cultivation of the space between my eyes,
the training of intellect
while igniting the wonder and mystery within

well researched oral reports
complete with audio-video presentations
assigned from and delivered to
Grandpa Roy’s
upstairs office

“a superfluity of culinary artists
has a deleterious effect
on the consommé”

soft silvery hair
yielding between my hands
as i perched upon his lap
irreverently crafting undignified mohawks –
an honor only i could pull off

the sound of crashing waves
and the warmth of my grandfather’s chest,
immersed in the infectious chaos
of the ancient Greeks
who walked amongst fickle and petulant gods

i come from Louisiana,
Ventress. Taft.
african descendants of slavery
and a white confederate plantation owner
that gave rise to the mixed-ness
of my downtown passing grandfather
who grew up black
in Jim Crow era south

Arnold Arons
and the love of being daughter,
being chosen, again and again

Downtown LA
the smell of tanned leather,
the thu-ump, thu-ump, thu-ump of whole cow hides cleanly sliced into uniform size
Latin American workers chismeando
alongside KLAX-FM 97.9
“la equis, la equis, noventa y siete punto nueve,”

dreidels, latkes, matza ball soup, haroset
and salt water tears.
“why do we recline this night
more than any other night?”

“don’t confuse the issue with the facts!”

green blue and red tipped wings
my soul tribe Tootsie

massive grey beak
tenderly preening my eyelashes,

a safe place to bury my face

warmth of his love and protection,

regardless of the violence and chaos around me

i come from alone.

connected.

a shared wordless language
that the wild crows, ravens and pigeons
could understand.
the earth who speaks
through ocean,
tall trees,
tiny insects,
and lumbering animal shaped clouds that changed form
as they traveled across
the afternoon sky

8.19.26 © artemisia layeni (nāhualcihuatzin) shine

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