I Come From

I come from renovated playgrounds and

caravan holidays and long life milk,

Saturdays spent in the library

and Sunday dinners round the kitchen table.

I come from first edition Harry Potters

and my dad’s old record collection,

now gathering dust.

I come from Bristol accents,

from green walls and purple curtains,

marmite on crumpets,

the bunny fields and

evenings spent at Rosie’s house,

with hoards of comic books

and video games

and pets.

I come from the responsibility of being the eldest child,

from ‘family fun time’,

from farmers and butchers

and men who deliver vegetables,

from a stay-at-home mum

and hours spent watching day-time TV.

I come from Sunday school

and library school

and school school,

from the science block

and the languages staircase

and the subway that always stank of piss.

I come from the trees at the bottom of the garden

and the victory of climbing higher than Christopher.

I come from Shania Twain

and Pink Floyd,

but mostly from Mulan and Aladdin.

I come from talking, talking, talking;

from laughter and tears,

from throwing punches

and instant regret,

from being completely unable to hold a grudge.