I am from the cheesiest part of the state,
green and gold engulfed the streets while the rumble
of the crowd radiates.

I'm from girl cousins,
and for playtime I conformed.
Red wig, purple dress, and a stuffed bra.

I am from November 15th, a sacred day.
Deer camp shmear camp, grades wobble when kids miss
A crisp morning over the screams and whines of my peers.

I'm from rolling corn, tucked away, and enraged neighbors.
2:00 AM, surg lights scan, all houses awake.
Ding dong,  kids dissipate, slinking into darkness.

I am from the south east.
“I took the job” to “I quit my job” a year of hell behind me.
I’d never thought I would reside back in paradise.

I'm from Sunday mornings, Dad manned the griddle.
Crepes with bacon while mom chopped the strawberries.
Their origin Sweden and six generations to date, still delectable.

I am from sharp objects, bright flames, and things that go boom,
glares of disapproval bombarded me.
First machete in grade two, what could go wrong?

I'm from do it right or not at all, my left foot behind me,
Use your head for more than a hat rack and
be so far ahead you think you are behind.