I’m from a neighborhood court 

where vehicles flew by, from an immense backyard, from

an area where neighbors spend 

hours away from home.

I’m from a town where every neighbor 

knew each other, from a place that was unknown, from when growing

up was easy, with kids sprinting from

each other during tag.

I’m from the boxy oak trees, the compact

water fountain in the front, from the dirt patches where groundhogs would burrow,

from the roundabout at the end

of the subdivision. 

I’m from the town of North Lake,

where school was effortless, from the wood chips that got stuck in middle schoolers shoes, from the library where me and friends

played computer games. 

I’m originate from a place where clouds 

consume the sky, from where deer bolt in front of cars, from the 

woods out back that housed a fort 

with many memories.