I am what I am not
I am footprints in wet sand
and my mother’s morning cup of coffee.
I am the chocolate in a peanut butter cup
and a pair of wolves who mate for life.
I am the soil in which flowers grows endlessly
and hot apple cider during the winter.
But I am not my sister’s brown curls,
or acorns falling from trees.
I am not my father’s hair dye,
or a wooden boardwalk during the summer.
And I am definitely not homemade brownies,
or my grandma’s old kitchen table.