I Am From

I am from a Yulan.

The flower of pure,

With its china-white crystal pedals carrying dewdrops from late midnight.

I am from the first whiff of morning smoke,

Breakfast stalls wake up earlier than the sunlight,

Curling up from the wooden windows of deep alleyways.

I am from an antique wooden chair,

From grandma’s fanning of cattail leaves, 

On the stary stary summer nights.

I am from the laughter of the wimpy kids,

Girls in red ribbons, boys licking watermelon ice pops.

Ring and ring, from bicycle bells,

Sing and sing, from the falling sound of ginkgo trees.

Fragrance surfacing from grandpa’s teapot,

Gently, nicely sneaking into the cyaneous sky.