I am from Vacationland,
the way life should be,
where there are no metal streetlights to outshine the stars.
I am from a town that is as well known as I am in Arizona
but I am a non-conformer to Mainer ways,
from years of being repulsed by seafood
and cringing at the thought of hunting.
I am from detesting every minute of picking blueberries,
yet eating them is irresistible.

I am from scrawling my name
on the track sign-up sheet every year,
even though I know I’ll regret it when my sneakered feet
are pounding out the slow rhythm of long laps.
I’m from driving half an hour to school,
being late to everything.
from biking across honking traffic to the grocery store,
swerving to avoid reflective cars.
I am from jumbling dark chocolate chips with buttery dough
and charring chocolate cake.

I am from Harry Potter movie marathons,
with the crunch of salty popcorn,
and from switching Taylor Swift to repeat.
from dangling old ornaments on a fresh Christmas tree,
where they glint in colored lights,
and waking up early with anticipation on December 25.
I’m from slurping a Strawberry Sensation, savoring every sip
and attempting to play the piano, merciless to everyone’s ears.

I am from leaping through an icy sprinkler
with my sister in the summer.
from freestyling in deep turquoise pools,
my hair drenched in the tang of chlorine even after I wash it.
I’m from climbing through my window
to tan on the blistering shingled roof,
so slanted that iPods fall over the edge
and I hope not to be next.
I’m from being conflicted about Maine.
Do I like it or not? I’m still not sure.