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I want to write a poem for the women of Granite Falls, Washington, who taught me the meaning of dank—who curse, smoke, and sing George Straight in the mornings.

I want to write a poem for the women of Granite Falls, Washington, who showed me how to have a good time even when there was no money.

I want to write a poem for the women of Granite Falls, Washington, who work long days at Subway while singing along to Alan Jackson with meatball spoons and who taught me just how good frozen chocolate chip cookies taste.

I want a write a poem for these women because they are my women and because they showed me the true meaning of life.

No matter where I go and what I do, the women of Granite Falls, Washington, will always be my family.

They will always be the women I think of when I think of hometown friends.

They always will be in my heart no matter where I go.

I was born country, and while I’m thousands of miles away, my heart always will be.

While I am liberal, I will always enjoy listening to Brooks and Dunn.

You see, I grew up taking backroads and eating bear meat, and while my life is a bit different now, I still feel “country” at heart.

I probably always will.

No matter where I go, I carry my home in my heart.

No matter what I write in the future, I will always write a few poems for the women of Granite Falls, Washington, who understand just how good Chicken Teriyaki with several ounces of salad dressing tastes.

You see, the women of Granite Falls, Washington, are my women, and no matter what happens, I will love these women as if they were my sisters.

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