I am from tattered homemade rag dolls

From scribbled notes and the books I read until the covers fell off

I am from houses that never lasted more than four years

— More often two

Loud, lonely, somehow filled with messy love

I am from lupins

— The “almost theres” of my grandmother’s house

I am from twelve generations of grandmothers with my name

From loud women who talk with their hands

I am from catholic excommunication

I am from addiction and loss but

I am also from medicine soup and midnight pizza

From deportation and burnt villages

From immigration and orphanage

Et d’un joyeux tintamarre Acadien

I am from tea biscuits and card games with my grandmother

I am from the moments between the loud, the lonely, the messy love

I am from the “almost theres” of the lupins

And a legacy of women with my name