Where I’m From

In my Creative Writing class, form poetry often goes over well.

And by “goes over well” I mean it scrapes by.

That the kids–well, most of them–do it.

And that when they’re done, the pieces they’ve written show a little piece of them. A little piece of their lives.

Assignments aren’t always easy to read because their lives haven’t been easy to live.

The topics that pop up are staggeringly inappropriate  sometimes.

Although true to their lives.

So I can’t always put them up on the wall like the proud classroom teacher, no matter how good their work might be.

Some of them can write though.

They’ve got rhythm. And honesty. And soul.

Precious commodities that many lose by adulthood.

I’d rather share their poems (but can’t), so you’ll have to be satisfied with the one they asked me to write, which will give you the general idea.

***

(This assignment is a type of “form poetry” based on an original poem we read in class by George Ella Lyon)

Where I’m From

I am from sledding

down Pennsylvania hillsides.

from picking dandelions

(and blowing their

white feathers everywhere)

I am from Willow Trees

From climbing them

Just as good as theboys.

 

I am from pigtails and mismatched barrettes,

From Fisher Price and Osh Kosh,

I am from tomboys,

And bookmobiles,

From “Won’t you be my neighbor?”

And “Can you tell me how to get

How to get to Sesame Street?”

 

I’m from “Yes Michigan” and its Farmers Markets,

From strawberries and corn on the cob

(that tasted better than candy).

From open fields and tractors,

Whose potatoes spill into our yard.

 

I’m from skipping down church hallways,

Humming and praying for miracles,

From laughing until I get hiccups.

I’m from He’s Got the Whole World,

From pleather New Testament Bibles,

And tiny communion cups.

 

There was a slideshow at my wedding,

Casting pictures on the wall.

A sea of people who flow

In and out of my life.

I am from them—

From what they believe in—

From chasing truth and love.