I was born from the south,
from barbeques, cornbread, and iced tea.
I was born from a pool in the yard,
sweltering summers satisfied with a gentle dip.
I was born from my brother’s home state,
both born, both bidding farewell in under two years.

I was from the west coast,
the ocean 15 minutes away, longing for me to enter.
I was from a baseball wonderland,
boredom satisfied at the convenient plaza.
I was from lizards and snails invading the backyard,
basking their slimy bodies in the warm California sun.

I am from the midwest,
the land where water fountains are bubblers.
I am from Packer country, cheese heads flooding the streets,
a lone Vikings fan stranded on an island of isolation.
I am from harsh, bitter winters,
the cold grasping my neck with its bitter hands.

I am from moving,
an Air Force family occupying the entire country.
I am from abandoning my family on the east coast,
Summer and Christmas the lone reminders of my beloved cousins.
I am from new beginnings, new houses, new opportunities,
a dormant tree starting over each spring.