"I Am From" Poem

I am from the sound of traffic

in the distance, filtered by a mile of pine

I am from snot-yellow pollen, swelling my eyes and nose

I am from the stacks--books, not pancakes

From paper that's seen a century turn

and paper so new it'll make your nose burn

I am from the Hebrew: "son of the right hand"

And the German: in a certain light, you might call it a papermaker

I am from days with two sunrises.

From Lake Lachrymose, the Indigo Plateau, and from a network of secret tunnels a dozen universes wide.

I am from a brick wall and a spotlight.

An unexpected guest on the other side of an unopened door

A chicken at a crosswalk.

Knock Knock: I am from the Answer