I’m from the empty suburbia

With yellow lawns and chained up dogs.

I’m from the everlasting freeways

With only two places to go.

I’m from smelly cow pastures and frozen orange groves.

empty lots with a hundred acres or more,

knowing that it’ll become another placeless thing

in a placeless city

in a placeless state

with placeless people.

I’m from a place with miles of open road

two lane highways broken up

by places named after things my city doesn’t have--

spring valleys, mountain air, snowy fields--

and things I wish it did.

I’m from blistering heat and humid rain.

I’m from lukewarm winters and soggy wind.

I’m from squishy grass and an orange season.

I’m from “hurricane watch” and “flash flood warning.”

I’m from screaming cousins and spanish hymns.

I’m from salty matza and hebrew prayer.

I’m from almond eyes and mystery meats.

I’m from the ocean smell and sand on my feet.

I’m from billboard after

Billboard after

Billboard

On my way home advertising

Things that remind me of home:

Surgery, casinos, and church.

I’m from silent nights

And quiet curses.

I’m from screaming wishes

And louder cries.

I’m from where I hope to

Go

And don’t have to take it with me.