Hello, I am a Person

I am from two plain doors,
a solitary fireplace,
and one step dropping
into an occupied carport.
I am from balls of foil like the lonely gas giants,
squeezed onto the long metal ears
on the back of a small television.
I am from clammy summers
and moody winters
that gave only one snowman,
four-inches high.
I am from a few-years-old beat-up bicycle
that was ridden with pride
as if it were brand new
and solid gold.

I am from early mornings, and steam
from coffee, like incense
rising from lonely people
offering their prayers intently
towards the ceiling.
I am from places
that I can remember if I try,
but I am from people that I keep
in a small brown box
with scenes of life and living
scraped into the soft wood.
I am from the ashes smeared
quickly on the brow,
presenting more questions than answers
and falling into my eyes.