Where I'm From

  This year Davis Reads, a program sponsered by the school district (and libraries!) is featuring an author named George Ella Lyon. She wrote a poem -Where I'm From. We are encourgaed to write a similiar poem. I was actually assigned to write one as part of my job. It was harder than I thought buit a lot of fun. I started out writing about my married life and ended up with my childhood. I encourage you to try and write it also. Visit this website for a template to help write the poem and learn more about Davis Reads. www.tinyurl.com/davisreads2012-13
Click on the tab to write your poem.


I hope you will share your poem with me if you take the challenge. Here is mine: 

 I am from a worn untuned piano that rang with love, from Epoxy glue and a giant rusted swing that launched me high into the sky on many an adventure.

I am from burnt orange carpet, dark wood paneling lovingly sanded by my father and a bedroom with slanted ceilings that left various lined bruises when I rounded a corner too fast.

I am from hollyhocks with pink ruffled skirts which with some effort became royal ladies dancing at a ball and from fragrant grapes with promises of cold drinks in front of a crackling fire on a frosty winter evening.

I am from fresh cut Christmas trees decorated with single brilliant bulbs adorned with reflectors and real lead tinsel , from hazel eyes, from Mother who loved with all her heart and Debi that shared my room and my deepest thoughts and Bruno the Boxer that stole Halloween candy and made my Midge doll flat chested.

I am from quick wits in a lively conversation and the humorous memories retold with laughter around the old kitchen table.

I am from hiding in the covers with fingers in my ears as I tremble to the wailing violins of the Perry Mason theme song.

From letters to Santa burned and lifted with the poker up a smoking black chimney to be read by the elves and worries of permanently crossed eyes that would ‘stick that way’ if I pulled a face.

I am from Scriptures and Hymns full of comfort, peace and love sung with voices that blended well with mine.

I’m from Salt Lake City and Scotland, Mexican Chicken and Vegetables and gooey golden strings of cheese baked to perfection in my mother’s fresh dough.

From the neighborhood water fight that started as a glass of water propelled across the dining table by my oldest brother, from the family camping trip in the dark and lonely desert that scared everyone, including Mom and Dad, and the cat that I dressed in doll dresses and christened weekly.

I am from a worn photo album with thick black deckle edged paper and a spicy perfumed cedar chest that I reverently peered into once a year. I am from memories that can’t be robbed, or burnt or buried , that can only be lost through neglect.