I was born into the stems from the flowers of my mothers and grandmothers,

daisies and roses.

I was born into the dusty dirt of my fathers and grandfathers,

silt and grime.

I was raised by the stretch of fields in northern Michigan,

grass and dirt.

I was raised by the miles of art in southern Wisconsin,

paint and quilts.

I was made by the pricks pokes of needles with my mother,

silk and tulle.

I was made by the dirt and cuts from working with my father,

wood and metal.

I was looked after by the fences running along neighborhoods and houses,

picket and wire. 

I was looked after by the pavement of school grounds and sidewalks,

stones and gravel.