I am from the fields, grass never cut.
   I am from the lake, where I fell jealous of the birds and fish flitting. 
I am from the rhythm of my father’s heart, as he lay beside me.

From the bedtime stories, to the universes they brought.
   From James Bond and Alex Rider, and Zlatan too.
From fighting, forgetting, and forever--to turmoil, treachery, and teasing.

I am from Pancakes and Perkins--pretending to sing along under God’s thoughtful watch.
   I am from underneath my mother's wings, hidden from the hideous world.
I am from relentless games of sheepshead, with Rita and Hal.

From the Thanksgiving dinners, and Christmas miracles.
   From competition as fierce as Olympic games, and alone time contemplating life.
From thoughtful despair, to the treeline thorns dragging me down.

I am from my brothers and friends, Grandparents and teammates.
  I am from “it’s not my fault!” or “That couldn’t possibly have been me” to “Leave me alone.”
I am from the Friday night football games, cheers still ringing in my head.

From the night games with the neighborhood pals, to the quarrels and quizzes of school.
   From Hartland to Hartford, and the smells of the Mineshaft.
From my mother’s touch, and my brothers soothing words as the world slipped away.

I am from the fields, lying in the barren wasteland.
   I am from the lake, where all life seems to have deceased. 
I am from the tombstone, where my memories lie.