I’m from the sunflower patch beside the railroad,
From those summer horizons lighting up my room like wildfire.
I’m from the yellow jungle gym in the Kuhn’s backyard,
The swings, the sandbox, and the slide.
I’m from the Saturdays full of mom’s homemade lemonade and cookies
From the late night games of kick the can, ghost in the graveyard, and red rover.
I’m from the piles of leaves gathered in the front yard,
From the snow days where hot chocolate never tasted so good.
I’m from the lakes of Michigan to the oceans of Jamaica.
From the family pictures in that rusted brass cabinet along my aunts pale wall.
From don’t run, don’t touch that, and don’t talk back.
I’m from the days that seemed alive,
And the nights that seemed endless.
I’m from the sunflower patch beside the railroad,
My sanctuary, my home.