I Am From

A Poem

Tali Afrah

I am from my bedroom sized closet, 

From LA Looks Gel and the kitchen. 

I am from the brick comfort of my home, 

The smell of Persian spices. 

The turmeric and saffron. 

I am from the peonies. 

The plum trees whose long limbs I remember 

As if I was sitting under them as a child. 

I am from henna ceremonies and rice, 

From my Maman Joon and Baba Joon, 

I’m from being late and always running around 

And from tarof. 

I’m from small heights and curly twists, 

From Khale Sooskeh stories told by my grandmother. 

I’m from my nieces and nephews running around 

Trying to pronounce my name. 

From morning wake up calls and airport runs. 

From the smell of the tadig getting crispy

And the kabob getting grilled on the hot fire. 

I am from the open house, 

The guests who turned into family. 

I’m from the laughs around the Friday night table. 

The kiddush club on Saturday morning. 

I am from the whips of the scallions on our backs 

At the Passover seder and 

From the cow tongue on Rosh Hashana. 

I am from the mehmoonies 

With the chai, sweet shiriini, 

And the never ending goodbyes. 

I am from the Santa Monica beaches, 

The oily fries on my plate at Fish Grill. 

From my grandmother’s house with the rugs, 

Barbari, Sarshir, and choresh . 

From the Persian TV playing in the background 

And my Maman in the kitchen bringing the endless food. 

I am from a home. 

From Mom and Dad 

and their parents. 

The ones that risked their lives for their children. 

And worked to get them the life they deserved. 

This is where I am from.