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FROM
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.
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