From the many and the too few

I come from the clanging of steel-rimmed, pyrex pans, from little pockets of fame hidden in stowed away places

from the shade casting pounds of relief, shedding grams of perspiration

I am from the rising swells, from the hyperactive phases of sugar-sweetness

from the scraggly voices sore from over-reaching our boundaries, from wagging fingers and swollen joints

I come from the rocking chair squeaks and the wispy gray hair with hints of golden charm

from under the ring leader's shadow striving to come into the circular, sliver of light projected from an unidentified origin

I am from the blended earth-produced leaves and the rain-soaked fruit with rough textures and unpronounceable names

from the half-sleeved argyle sweaters and the worn-in, worn-down, worn-around brown shoes

I come from the well-waters of dirt-paved roads, of the silver, shiny shingles illuminated by the sun's pounding rays, from the bright, teal shutters to the caved-in door

I am from the rhythm hidden away from the cataract eyesight, from the ankle jewelry shushed into quietness, not tempting its bells to ring

from the hum-drum of routine that has casually floated ashore without the wash of waves that usually accompanies it

I come from the tacky platters collecting filaments of dust in the nowhere places to the general brand cooking spray glossed over, lining the last shelves

from the over-used to the over-worked. the under-appreciated to the under-recognized. from the whispered meanings to the loud welcomes