I am from the oven in my kitchen,
From my stuff bear, and my TV,
I am from the grape vine in my yard,
The palm tree,
Whose long gone limbs I remember,
As if they were my own,

I’m from yelling an butchers,
from San Luis and Enrique,
I’m from cooking and cleaning,
And from parties,

I’m from San Diego and Esperanza’s branch,
Sugar cane and classic hot chocolate,
From the lady in the white dress,
to the sound of her steps,

On the wall hang pictures, portriats,
collecting dust,
leaving an outline,
I am made from those memories,
in the frames.