I am from cassette players
Blasting old tunes from my parents’ time
The white curtains
Hanging in the living room
As a back drop for a green couch
Familiar with bodyslams and full nelsons
I am from Tagalog curse words
Echoing through the house in a percussive rhythm
Seemingly appropriate for a household of nine
I am from bedtime stories
That started with “Back in my days…”
Hand-me-downs, top ramen,
$5 dollar haircuts, and a busy street intersection
In the city
Where a blend of Spanish, Chinese, Tagalog, and English
Resonate through corner stores and Muni stops
An anthem of working class immigrants and citizens
I am from those pixie sticks
That came in different colors and flavors
Bounded, constricted--tightly with a rubber band
Cramped
Like a family in pursuit a dream
Narrated to them in photographs
Carefully planned and placed into albums
Negatives nowhere to be found
Or perhaps forgotten
Because trauma
Hurts the head
Resulting in...
Historical amnesia
