Where I’m From...

By: Abby Militello

I am from wild blackberries pouring over a white picket fence,

from sweaty Saucony sneakers to spicy Sriracha sauce.

I am from the raised ranch on the corner of Warren & Martin, where bicycle tread marks and pastel chalk sketches

cover broken sidewalks like tattoos from one arm of the block to the other.

It sounded like Mom’s piercing whistle over the low trill of train wheels on tracks in the distance.

I am from the perfect skipping stone,

the aromatic bunches of basil, rosemary, dill, & chives hanging delicately, their brittle leaves rustling with

every slight breeze.

I’m from the hunt for the perfect Christmas tree amidst imposing windmills at Almeter’s farm

and deep set dimples that best present themselves with laughter around the dinner table.

From Frederick Carl Widmer and Patricia Anne Kibler

and Papa Joe (by choice not blood).

I’m from chronic procrastination

and the “Kibler goodbye,” an event in and of itself.

From “the sun’s out and so are we”

and “you are my sunshine”.

I’m from “Dear God, Good Morning…”

and finding balance in all things.

I was delivered into unconditional love at Sister’s Hospital of Buffalo, New York where my German blood

first started running through my tiny veins,

Tante Lisiel’s poppy seed mohnstrudelwith coffee and cases packed salty meats from Spar’s West Side Hungarian

butcher.

From my thrill-seeking cousins, holding my hand 20,000 feet in the air just before our freefall into Chicago’s blue sky,

My father’s tight grip on my arm as he both held the back of bicycle my first time without training wheels

and my arm as he walked me down the aisle at my wedding.

I am from the quaint village of East Aurora to the rolling hills and sunsets of Geneseo to the hipster chic

streets of Brooklyn back to Hamburg where I lay down new roots with my new family.

I am not from London, Positano, Sedona, Amelia Island, Cholula or Portugal, but my memories from

around the globe are postcards hanging prominently in the forefront of my life.

I am from countless family hikes, babies on our backs, all trails leading to my sweet little home,

Under a blanket of my boys, my whole world fit snugly on one end of a couch.