I am.

I am climbing trees and the windy breeze

Splinters in my fingers and bee stings by my knees

I am walking on thin ice and waiting to fall through

From minding my business and heading to my room

I am mirror images and mixed-up names

Of being known and not allowed to complain

I am blue fingers and blue toes

Of a skinny waist and a little nose

I am corn fields and car rides

Of long drives at midnight

I am lightning bugs and counting stars

Of learning constellations that we claim as ours

I am pencils and notebooks and pens

Of classrooms and hallways and tests

Of paper spilled out over the dining room table

And a porch with a light that never goes out

I am sunset and sunrise

tired eyes and long goodbyes

I am papercuts and library books

the green rocking chair and goodnight moon

I am a foam sword with a steel name

a picture worth a thousand words but left without a frame

I am.