We Are From
Twelfth Grade
We are from plátanos and empanadas,
from biryani and chicken tikka masala,
from curried goat, chicken cutlets,
pasteles, risotto and flan,
from mom's ribs and rice
and arroz con gandules simmering on the stove.
We are from Gallina cookies,
brookies made in Nana's kitchen,
cannolis shared around the table,
and fondue on New Year's.
We are from Puerto Rico,
the Dominican Republic,
India, Algeria, Guatemala, England,
Jersey City, Hoboken, and elsewhere in New Jersey—
from places we came from
and places that became home.
We are from Ramadan and Inshallah,
from the Bible worn thin
by years of our mother's faith,
from "You will be with me in paradise."
We are from crowded, confined, loving homes,
from family photos covering the walls,
vacation pictures on the fridge,
and basements crawling with memories.
We are from cooking with our moms,
from laughing until we can't breathe,
from family bonding,
playing dominoes on holidays,
respecting elders,
and remembering those we loved.
We are from volleyball,
video games,
art and tattoos,
the Guitar Bar,
Wind in the Willows
theater,
busy trading floors,
and traveling the world.
We are from tulips on the dining table
that change color every time we see them,
from citrus candles,
the beach,
and good friends.
We are from:
"Finish your plate."
"Avoid trouble."
"Don't do anything you'll regret."
"Never forget your roots."
"I am proud of you."
"You are destined for great things."
"I love you."
We are from a middle name
our grandmother gave.
We are from homes where love stayed,
even on the bad days.
We are from all of this—
the stories,
the food,
the faith,
the laughter,
the people.
And wherever we go,
we carry where we're from.