She is the love

that travels through music

that lives in her home

that she spreads

until she is stretched thin.

She is the namesake

of all the places she’s found

of the person she used to be

of her great grandma.

She is the worry

of the hands clenched tight

of the long term plans

of her mind’s hurry.

She is the sound

of her guitar

of her family’s laughter

of the music she’s written down.

She is the tears

of the clouds

of her mistakes

of her grandma’s line going flat.

I am the footsteps

that follow my heart

that travel through our woods

that carry on the roots of my family.

I am not perfect

but I know not to be.

I didn’t know who I was

but now I can finally see.