Queer prairie land allegories are not about essence. They are not about claiming productive communing relationships with land. Not for me. They arguably cannot be for white settler colonists like me. Queer prairie land allegories cannot be about little houses and good-hearted homesteaders, nor are they about collective recollections of midwest childhood summer evenings regarding dusk and fireflies. They are not stories of quests for boys and girls that bring me back to the ‘inherent’ goodness of ‘home.’ Queer prairie land allegories are about making inappropriate and insufficient allegories: ones that fall apart and fail to be truly allegorical. They cannot be about home, because I never return to such a place: home. And how can queer prairie land allegories be a site for stories of boys and girls, when I enter as one, and leave as neither? They are selfish, maybe pitiful, and surely a way to use the land, but hopefully with less harm done, and inhabited with make-believe. At least, all of this is how I see them for me.