I am from towns that haven't been traveled to,

moving place to place because the government made us,

I’m from Iron mountain Michigan, Pasadena and New Windsor Maryland.

I am from the towns with a church, a post office and a bar,

neighbors so close I can hear the chatter,

I’m from the places where the grocery store clerk knows my family’s name.

I am from neighborhoods with police sirens crying,

making and losing friends because the phone’s ringing,

I’m from places I can’t recall.

I am from neighborhoods where there's nothing to be seen,

places where the bus would have to slow down for tractors and cows,

I’m from places where farms appear.

I am from my dad coming home telling our family “we can have life on our own,”

maybe no more government calls telling us where to go,

I’m from Nashotah, Wisconsin where I hope to grow old.