I am from bare feet on the hot pavement,

 from stubbed toes and skinned knees.

 I am from the white house on the corner 

(towering arborvitaes and flowering pear trees).

I am from violet fields we would play in, 

and white hydrangeas that meant the world to me,

scents so sweet.

I am from porch swings on spring days

and Christmas at the cousin’s, 

from the best advice giver,

my biggest supporter,

and the one so frail you’d think she’d break. 

I am from playing catch in the front yard

and Wii in the basement. 

From “you throw like a girl”

and “you’ll never be as good as me”,

from trying my hardest in everything I do to prove them wrong.

I'm from German and Swiss roots, 

Grandma’s cheesy potatoes and rice crispy treats.

From the two story house on Jackson St,

the floorboards you can hear when you run, 

and the family golf course in Anamosa,

spending our weekends eating bacon and picking up golf balls.

I am from a polaroid picture

of the last time they owned it,

and the memories we made there. 

I am from the old playset which used to sit by the big pine tree,

and piling in the family room on holidays.

I am from moments I hold close to my heart.