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