National Poetry Month, Poem #2

Where I’m From
I am from clothespins,
from Clorox and carbon-tetrachloride,
I am from the dirt under the back porch.
(Black, glistening,
It tasted like beets.)
I am from the forsythia bush,
The Dutch elm
Whose long-gone limbs I remember
As if they were my own.

I’m from fudge and eyeglasses,
from Imogene and Alafair.
I’m from the know-it-alls
and the pass-it-ons,
from Perk up! And Pipe down!I’m from He restoreth my soul
with a cottonball lamb
and ten verses I can say myself.

I’m from Artemus and Billie’s Branch,
Fried corn and strong coffee.
From the finger my grandfather lost
to the auger,
the eye my father shut to keep his sight.

Under my bed was a dress box
spilling old pictures,
a sift of lost faces
to drift beneath my dreams.
I am from those moments-
Snapped before I budded-
leaf-fall from the family tree.
-George Ella Lyon

This poem is one that is simple and familiar. When I first read it I thought of Grandma’s black dirt under her porch, Mom’s homemade fudge, making a cottonball lamb, and Dad losing an eye in an accident as a child . This poem is a good starting point for a writing exercise for families, friends, and students. Enjoy!

No comments:

Post a Comment

I always enjoy reading comments!