This is my note,
my pencil and looseleaf paper.
This is my dust on the shelves.
(gray, still, it feels like sand.)
This is my cool breeze,
the Seattle wind
whose ocean rimmed scent I long for
as if I had once known.

This is my soda and coffee cup,
my Christ and Clause.
This is my all-in-one and hand-me-down,
my warm up and cool off.
This is my thou shalt not curse
with a cottomouth tongue
and three persons I can't conceive as one.

This is my Douglas County,
college football and iced cakes.
This is my inheritance passed down
from my grandfather
the loss my mother sent me away with.
In my closet is a metaphor
for lost second chances,
a blur of faded lines
to focus on when I'm ready.

This is my era -- too broad for me to impact --
segment -- pushed in betwen the lines.

**Inspired by "Where I'm from" by George Ella Lyon

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