Welcome to Verselove, a place for educators to nurture their writing lives and to advocate for writing poetry in community. We are gathering every day in April to write– no sign-ups, no fees, no commitments. Come and go as you please. All that we ask is that if you write, you respond to others to mirror to them your readerly experiences — beautiful lines, phrases that resonate, ideas stirred. Enjoy. (Learn more here.)
Our Host: Stacey Joy
Stacey Joy is a National Board Certified Teacher, Google Certified Educator, and 2013 L.A. County Teacher of the Year. Stacey has taught elementary school for 39 years in Los Angeles Unified School District. Stacey is a UCLA Writing Project fellow and a dedicated writer here with the phenomenal teacher-poets of Ethical ELA. Stacey is a self-published poet and she has poems published in various anthologies: Out of Anonymity, Savant Poetry Anthologies, Teacher Poets Writing to Bridge the Distance, and Rhythm and Rhyme: Poems for Student Athletes, and more. In addition to teaching and writing, Stacey enjoys traveling, spending time at the beach, and capturing pictures in nature while taking mindful walks.
Inspiration
Does the Where I’m From poetry lesson ever get old and dull? In my opinion, NO! I’ve written versions of Where I’m From poems for over 10 years, and every version is special. My students have composed “Where We’re From” poems together to share their collective identities. There are so many ways to enjoy Where I’m From poetry. If you are not a fan, try a “Where I’m Not” or “Where I Want to Be” or a “Where I Live” point of view.
Process
Visit George Ella Lyon’s website for a refresher on Where I’m From. If you are a list person, create a list of people/places/things/memories. Then compose your poem in any way you prefer. If you are more comfortable with a form, you can write your poem following a form you prefer. Or, go down the rabbit hole and enjoy some of the Where I’m From poems on YouTube and create a visual experience along with your written words. Most of all, have fun and write whatever your heart speaks.
Stacey’s Poem
Where I’m From
I’m from shag carpet, wood paneled walls and a red brick fireplace
From red, white, and blue bomb pops
To Thrifty’s chocolate chip ice cream on a plain cone
I am from the big yellow house in Baldwin Hills
And pool parties, slip n slide, and hide and seek in the summer
I am from green sticker grass speckled with dandelions
To blowing the little fuzz with my wishes in the air
I’m from spicy chili beans on Monday nights, casseroles on Christmas,
and gumbo for the New Year
I’m from Pokeno with my Nana and Crazy 8’s with my Mom
I’m from the Johnsons of New Orleans, the McPhersons of Oklahoma
And forgotten kings and queens of Africa
I’m from playing school every day
To teaching in my calling for 39 years
I’m from riding my blue 10-speed bike and driving my PopCar
To walking dirt trails home from school
I’m from Lite-Brite, Etch-a-Sketch, and Monopoly with my sister
I’m from wishing on a star to praying on bended knees
I am from Gloria Lee and Patsy Ann
From parents and step-parents
To poets and activists
I’m from Nikki Giovanni and Toni Morrison
To writing my own poems and teaching children to rhyme
I’m from words on the ceiling late at night
To verses of empowerment leaking from my bones.
I’m from ancestors cries for freedom some day
To looking back and wondering how to make a way.
©Stacey L. Joy, 3/12/25
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may choose to use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers.
Late to the party once again, but here! Thanks for this prompt, Stacey Joy; always a solid choice!
Where I’m From
I’m from
porch swings and tractor rides
from tractor rides and rust buckets, walking in the field with Papaw
and quilt squares,
from a good game of bones (no cursing though),
fingers in the dirt, and sweat on the brow
from boots in the woods and on the factory floor.
I am from
too many cooks in the kitchen
and lots of laughter to spare,
from big sweet grits and sweet rice,
fancy glasses and shit on a shingle,
from tomato juice drippin’ down your chin,
big Southern Saturday breakfasts and peanuts and red hots,
from pot lucks and picnics in the park.
I am from
“Elt, I’ll say.” and “Put it in the poke.”
from “Finer than a frog hair split four ways and sanded down.” and
“We was starvin’ down ‘ere.”
from “It’s ‘bout over yonder” and “Reckon we’ll see.”
from “Punk, no can take your education” and
“Them people get up of a mornin’ and put their pants on same way you do.”
from “Every day’s shit, just some day’s a bigger pile.”
I am from
farmers and factory workers
from Nellie and Dall Roy and the railroad brought ‘em together
from Beadie and Adam and the mules that logged the hills
from Marie and Elmer and German wine
from stooped backs and chainsaw injuries
from hills and hollers
from tall tails and musicmakers
from bad decisions
from all the good that came from ‘em.
Stacey, What a fun prompt to revisit! Thank you for the reminder of the joy this prompt brings. Loved your poem!
I am from
rocking chairs on the front porch
and homework at the kitchen table,
from bedtime stories and library cards, fishing with grandpa
and watermelon smiles,
from lightnin’ bugs in a jar and canning tomatoes with granny,
planting beans and peas after Good Friday
and reading in the porch swing,
from country cable and chickens in the yard.
I am from
laundry on the line and library cards
and stacks of books with stories to share,
from stirring the big pot of grits on the wooden stove
and red eye gravy made with salty ham and coffee,
from biscuits and sweet tea, peach cobbler and huckleberry jam,
Brunswick stew and hushpuppies,
from Sunday dinner on the grounds at church and
family dinners on the dock by the pond,
and front porch storytelling sessions on humid southern nights.
I am from
“Y’all come back now.” and “He ain’t right.”
from “You can’t get there from here.” And “Well, I reckon.”
from “Go ask your mama.” and “Hush up.”
from “Yes, ma’am.” and “No, sir.” and “You can do it if you work at it,”
from “I’m proud of you.”, “School is important.” and “Don’t git above your raisin’.”
I am from
Granny Blanche and the soldier who loved and left her,
from Don and Eula Mae, from Mayo and Evelyn,
from Wadley and Kite, from Warner Robins and UGA,
from Wesleyan and David,
from gnarled hands piecing quilts,
from storytellers and liars,
from dirt farmers and sharecroppers,
from trailer parks and classrooms,
from gospel sings and bluegrass,
from libraries and churches
from family, both fixed and found.
Hi Melanie,
I’m glad I checked back to see what I may have missed. This is a treat, one to keep! How adorable is this visual…
I am in complete love with your quotes! May I ask what “Don’t get above your raisin” means?? I’m thinking maybe it’s similar to don’t try to be grown?? Too funny!
Thank you! Don’t get above your raising means quite a few different things–lke bless your heart–it changes depending on the intonations and who is saying it to you. It can mean, don’t forget where you come from, don’t think you are better than us, you ain’t no better than us so quit puttin’ on airs, and you are from the same place I am so quit trying to pretend you aren’t.
Thank you for the kinds words. I appreciate them so much!
I love and relate to so much of this poem, Melanie. Where we’re from definitely overlaps. I love the way you featured rural Southern speech. <3
I agree! I see that in so much of our writing!
Stacey, I forgot to say this yesterday, but I loved, loved your poem. <3
Thank you so much for enjoying it and for writing!
Trick Question by Martha KS Patrick
“Where you from?”
Which “where from”
Do you mean?
Where I “sit?”
Gümüşlük
Home right now.
Before then?
Coming here
from Taiwan.
Nereli?
Place of birth
U S A
Before that?
(Family roots)
Iskotça
Where you “sit”
in U S?
Rhode Island
Before that
in U S?
Near Boston
Florida
Nashville and
Caroline
Chicago
and LaPorte,
Nutmeg State.
“Oh, I see.
Where you from
Trick question.”
I prefer
to say, world
citizen.
How bout you?
Where you from?
Everywhere?
Martha, how brilliant! From the title to each stanza, I am beyond impressed with what you did with the prompt. I apologize I didn’t catch this last night because I had a very long weekend, but I’m grateful to see it today. Thank you for sharing.
“Oh, I see.
Where you from
Trick question.”
I loved the title and how you set me up as the reader to see a different kind of response to “Where are you from?” as a prompt. I think that as teachers of writers we sometimes think this is an easy prompt to respond to but you beautifully show the complexity of being a world citizen. I love the mix of places and language! I love the stanza “Oh, I see/where you from/trick question”–it packs a lovely punch!
Your poem was so delightful–which I have been a big fan of your poetry for a few years now!
I’m from don’t run in the house, stay outside until dark
From popsicles that taste like sweet tarts and nothing all at once
To Braum’s book clubs, and reading summer goals
I am from a little college town holding a lot of people’s dreams
And the 4th and Hester house, White Barn student-led dances
I am from Go Pokes and sweet pea flowers
To climbing in any tree with welcoming branches with a book
I’m from whatever you do at midnight for New Years, you’ll do all year
I’m from Spades games and Spoons, Risk and 21
I’m from the Valencia line of Aztec and Mayans
And moonshine loving, blue grass strumming mountain folk
I’m from go to church on Sundays and Wednesdays
To picking my life path once, changing gears, and going back
I’m from we need to band together, our soil has been tainted
To I don’t even recognize our country now
I’m from recording music on a cassette, and hearing a song once a day
I’m from racing home to watch TRL
I am from Frank and Rosalie
From an immigrant with a dream and a small-town girl
To a first gen graduate
I’m from it was a pleasure to burn, and a time to remember
To moving to sandy soils and running from landlocked pains
I’m from whispers and inside jokes with my husband
To a poem a day with friends, some I’ve never met face to face
I’m from learning what PKU is and promising to do my best
To sitting on a tree swing, feet pumping the air, family beside me
Ashley,
No matter the age and geographic distance, I find common ground w/ this community of poets. Like you, I went to church on Wednesday and Sundays, am first gen college, don’t recognize our country. You took me back to forgotten memories w/ these lines:
“I’m from Spades games and Spoons, Risk and 21”
Im gonna get my son to play w/ me Easter weekend. Thanks for jogging my memory.
Hi Ashley, thank you for writing yesterday and I’m sorry I didn’t get to see it before I went to bed. I adore those lines that I captured at the top. As a child, I always wished to have a treehouse. But I would’ve been totally fine with a branch that could welcome me and a book. It just never worked out that way in the city. So much of your poem reflects my childhood also. It’s just beautiful to read your story in this format.
Thank you for sharing with us. I’m honored also that you’re a fan of my poetry.
I am a fan of yours!
Thank you Stacey, your prompt is one that has many different guises. Every time it is written can have a different twist. This line from your poem really resonates with me. “To verses of empowerment leaking from my bones.”
Where I’m From
I’m from climbing decade old mango trees
when friends would hide under huge branches
I’m from playing with colored plastic dolls
whose hands and feet were stuck together
I’m from safe neighborhoods where quiet
side roads allowed friends to walk back and forth
I’m from a home where we could pluck
different fruits and vegetables for dinner
I’m from a land where cocoa is grown
I’m from a land of gold, which used to be
called the Gold Coast
I’m from a land of traditional celebrations
When most weekends entertain a durbar or a marriage
I’m from a land where funerals for the elderly
become huge social events
I’m from the land of drumming and dancing
Where dance is part of all celebrations
I’m from a land of tasty, spicy food
Where yams, plantain and cassava are staples
A land of coconuts, pineapples, mangoes and oranges
I’m from a land of gold, Ghana, which used to be
called the Gold Coast
Juliette,
Until I reached the line “I’m from a land where cocoa is grown” I could have been reading about the neighborhood I grew up in back in Missouri and the one where I raised my kids in Idaho. I love this similarity in childhoods. Then the second verse is a lovely tour of your home. I hope I can visit someday.
Thank you, Juliette. I am honored to meet you and know more of your land.
I especially loved these lines: “I’m from safe neighborhoods where quiet
side roads allowed friends to walk back and forth.”
I would love to joın you there.
Juliette, each time I read about Ghana in your poetry, my heart opens and welcomes all the beauty you offer. I can’t wait to go!
I especially love that you chose to use the word “land” because that speaks to the vastness of your experiences. I could sit with these lines all day today:
Thanks for this prompt…though I’ve never encountered it so directly, where I’m from seeps into every story and poem I write. I love your journey from green sticker grass speckled with dandelions and little fuzz wishes to the recognition of your ancestors crying for freedom. Thanks for the opportunity to re-appreciate my origins!
where I’m from
I come from cracked sidewalks,
a leafy sycamore,
and an armchair stoop
wide enough to hold the world.
My father had a voice,
like melted honey
and warm strong hands
that carried a briefcase
almost as big as me
and could build anything
from fresh cardboard
and the sharp razor I never touched.
Most of all my father loved my mother,
not just because she was pretty—
(the prettiest mother in the neighborhood)—
or cooked so well, or sang like an angel—
(whether ironing, cooking or washing the dishes)
but because she loved him
as much as he loved her.
After dinner, they’d talk until darkness came,
and then maybe they’d hold hands
while they watched TV, or on Sundays
when we walked to church.
It’s hard to leave such a place
where everyone and everything I loved
was only a sidewalk or bus ride away,
but when I was in third grade,
we moved to a house
with a curb, but no stoop
and no sidewalks,
not even cracked ones.
Sometimes my mother cried
because she missed her sisters,
missed Brooklyn.
So did I.
My mother was still the prettiest
mother, even in the new neighborhood,
and she still sang when she ironed,
or cooked or rocked my baby brother
and sister.
She and my father still talked and talked
and talked.
They still held hands when they watched TV.
At our new house
my father planted
a red maple
that my mother loved.
Years later I wrote a poem
about my mother, the maple tree
and what we learned together:
Home is where love sprouts;
we carry our roots inside us.
Ann — Your poem gives me all the feels. Love the images of your parents “hold hands
while they watched TV, or on Sundays.” I feel that love radiating from your poem.
Hi Ann,
Thank you for your poem and for sharing this very intriguing journey with us. I am sure I’ve never heard this kind of father’s voice but I’m hearing it through your poem:
Your parents’ love for one another should be bottled and sold.
The maple tree and your final lines bring me joy.
So much love in your poem, Ann! Your parents’ love story is a dream for so many. Your way with words is what creates vivid images and helps me see your father with “his voice, like melted honey,” your mother “prettiest in the neighborhood,” a sycomore, and a red maple.
The ending lines of the poem beautifully summarize what holds your family strong. Beautiful poem! Thank you.
What a lovely poem. I love the rhythm of the language and the way that you wrap the images into the stanzas. It feels as though you are pulling us in with the connections of place and family and then planting these seeds. I saw a maple tree on my walk across campus today and it pulled me back into your poem. The last stanza of your poem made my heart sing.
Stacey,
I never get tired of a “Where I’m From” poem! When I was visiting my mom a few months, ago, we ended up going through some old jewelry that she had. Many were pieces she’d held into from my youth, but a bunch were from my grandmother — including her charm bracelet that I used to love perusing again and again when I visited her as a child.
I am from my grandmother’s
charmed bracelet –
but not from a charmed life.
A history in sterling silver
From seemingly sterling
relatives:
Office supplies that move, spin.
A tiny stapler, a pen.
An adding machine and an iron.
A maple leaf.
A map of Georgia,
Fort Benning starred.
My uncle was deployed to Korea:
was this his charm?
A tiny Columbia Records LP,
name long since obliterated.
“My Valentine.”
The U.S. Capital in DC.
A cello.
A steno pad that flips open to reveal…
My uncle as a child?
An MSU charm.
A tiny secretary’s chair that spins
and a typewriter to accompany it.
A shamrock.
A Christmas wreath.
A heart from “Joe,” 2/14/66
A deck of cards.
“To Mother with Love.”
“Merry Christmas.”
“With Special Thanks, Larry and Di.”
The Sacred Heart of Jesus.
A telephone.
Dutch clogs.
A heart with a ruby,
January – the month of her birth.
Wendy,
I love how there is mystery in these discoveries and the end– A heart with a ruby, January – the month of her birth — is perfect.
Wendy,
Your poem is packed with such interesting artifacts, almost like puzzle pieces. And I love how your mother’s charm bracelet frames the narrative. I keep rereading!
Hi Wendy,
Gosh, I am filled with so much gratitude today. Another poem that took Where I’m From to a different level by using the charm bracelet as your inspiration. Just lovely!
Do you have a charm bracelet that might hold some stories for another Where I’m From for others in your family?
Thank you, Wendy!
So strange that you should write about a charm bracelet when today I wore my own charm bracelet for a family celebration…I think of my bracelet as the story of my life…but your opening made me realize that these tiny charms capture moments, suggest interests or accomplishments, but don’t really add up to the story of a life at all … you’ve really started me thinking Wendy! Perhaps bequeathed charm bracelets should be annotated!
Agree, Ann, about the annotation! Some of these mysteries are lost to time.
Wendy,
Your poem feels like you are sharing a piece of yourself through little whispers and musings. The use of quotation marks heightens the emotions in the poem.
Stacey,
Thank you for your prompt today and your poem. I have many of the same fond memories of playing “Lite-Brite, Etch-a-Sketch, and Monopoly.”
Love the the message and power in your last lines:
“To verses of empowerment leaking from my bones.
I’m from ancestors cries for freedom some day
To looking back and wondering how to make a way.”
Where I am From — Summer’s Long Ago
I am from swings and monkey bars nestled in a wooded backyard
I am from stomping barefoot in puddles, mud squelching between toes
after a summer storm.
I am from backyard baseball in which we pitched a tennis ball,
from a driveway basketball hoop and games of Around the World.
I am from homemade popsicles made in Tupperware,
from the porch rocker, gently creaking as I turn the pages of a Nancy Drew mystery,
sipping sweet Cherry Kool-Aid.
I am from dappled shadows dancing beneath the papery skinned birch tree and long, leisurely walks, just mom and me.
I am from plastic pools filled with icy water and games of kick the can,
from catching fireflies to light our nighttime lanterns.
I am from tents staked in backyards for summer campouts,
from long, golden days spent riding bikes,
dashing through neighborhood yards
until the bell rang, calling us home.
Tammi,
I adore this focusing on summer play and games. How much red dye did we consume drinking red Kool-Aid? I long to run and chase fireflies again. The last line is perfect:
“until the bell rang, calling us home.”
Hi Tammi,
I hadn’t thought about Tupperware popsicles in ages! Thank you for such a fun memory. Your childhood is rich with innocent fun and joy. I wish children today could have this experience.
Thanks Tammi for sharing your childhood through this poem. There are similarities, with your outdoor play, even though we are continents apart.
Stacey,
Thanks for hosting. Your childhood sounds idyllic. Your first line sums up the 70s perfectly I can see you riding that blue ten speed bike and running down those dirt paths. My poem is a hodgepodge of what’s on my mind in this moment.
generation boomer
i’m from “okay boomer”
post WWII nation, Amer-
i-can Dream mythology.
i’m from i can’t believe i
learned grammar living
with a stepmother who
said “Wal-Marts & You-uns.”
i’m from riding hogs with
my cousin Kim & checking
Bobby Greg’s pot plant hiding
under a black light in the closet
i’m from fire & brimstone
Just As I Am off-key hymns &
quoting bible verses when i
teach allusions in American lit
i’m from “she’d be the perfect
lady if she didn’t say f*ck so much”
& all the words Southern Baptists
don’t say at church.
i’m from biting my nails &
picking my toes but not
my nose or that orange
golf cheat & his cosplaying
cabinet of deplorables
i’m from grandma telling
me if you got it flaunt it
& big boob sassy girl energy
i’m from Stanley farting in
my face & all the fur-babies
i’ve loved, especially Puck & Snug
i’m from family scat-
terd like autumn leaves
i’m from grading papers
with a purple pen & silently
correcting everyone’s grammar
i’m from never asking ChatGPT
& never using TPT
in 2025 i’m from American
Idiot nation & feeling like
there’s no escape hatch.
Glenda Funk
4-6-25
*Stanley is our pandemic dog.
Glenda, another fun ride through your poetry. I am laughing at how the “golf cheat” followed you picking your toes.
I adore these lines because it’s what we do, right? A friend gave me a book with that title, I’m silently correcting your grammar.
Thanks, Glenda, this was a treat!
Glenda, your poem is amazing! I love all the rich details to show your history and personality. The lady part was particularly funny and your love for fur babies resonates. Loved the sassy big boob sassy girl energy:) Your poem is a delight and flows beautifully. Of course, the end revealing the current reality is haunting. Powerful piece!
Glenda,
Just love everything about your poem! Laughed out loud to this:
“i’m from “she’d be the perfect
lady if she didn’t say f*ck so much”
& all the words Southern Baptists
don’t say at church”
Glenda,
You had me at “i’m from okay boomer'” This poem is a joy ride, and that last stanza packs a serious punch! I loved reading this.
Glenda, I like the small moments that you elaborated on with just a line but made very vivid for your reader.
Glenda, you got me at that “i-can Dream mythology.” I love what you did with “Amer-i-can”–a witty move I haven’t seen yet. The rest if the poem is you: straight, brutally honest, sarcastic, caring, and loving. Your poems are always fun to read. What’s TPT? Apparently, I don’t use it either )).
I love the irreverent and brilliant language throughout this poem, such a wonderful lens with which to focus one’s memories. This stanza is so awesome:
“i’m from never asking ChatGPT
& never using TPT”
preach it, Glenda! I sometimes feel closed minded when I refuse to use it and tell me students the same. I’m 100% ok with that.
Glenda, so, so many details, some I knew already and some new ones too. You are bold and beautiful in your writing! I like the lowercase i and & and the short stanzas. I like that you do this for your students:
Allusions are hard to catch when we don’t have the background.
I am from green canyons with snow capped peaks.
I am root beer and pretzel rides.
And my little companions, Darcy and Pepper.
I am ice cream with sprinkles!
I am from national parks and road trips with friends.
I am mountain rivers and quaking Aspens
To blue lakes and desert cliffs.
I am from garden boxes and flower beds.
And impulsive shopping sprees to Hobby Lobby.
I am from inspirational mentors who saw potential in me.
I come from a family of artists, but I create art with words.
Your life sounds wonderful, Melissa! The mountain rivers and quaking Aspens sound so inviting.
Melissa,
I love the national park line. Are you in the mountains? We have a quaky aspen in our front yard. I love the sound of these trees. Favorite line: “I create art with words.” That’s my aspiration.
Yes, Utah!
Melissa — Love the beautiful images in your poem:
“snow capped peaks,mountain rivers and quaking Aspens
To blue lakes and desert cliffs” and especially like your ending “but I create art with words.”
Melissa, your last line is great. Thanks for sharing all the outdoor activities you enjoyed.
Melissa,
I enjoyed the wonderful images here in your poem. Your poem could be used to teach students some geographical features they don’t know about. My little California darlings think snow capped peaks aren’t even here in our state.
Love the colors and fun popping from the poem too. That’s the artist’s blood running through your veins.
I love the joy that spreads through the lines of your poem–green canyons with snow capped peaks is a lovely phrase. I appreciated the imagery in your poem. You created so many pictures for me that helped me connect with the text of your poem and the moments you were creating. I love the line “but I create art with words.” Beautiful.
Where I’m From (Today’s Version)
By Mo Daley 4/6/25
I’m from a pot of tea at dawn,
a warm blanket, a book, and dogs on my lap.
I’m from Mucinex in the morning and online church,
from the greys pleading to be touched up
and from hours in the car to bring
the in-laws a Panera lunch.
Today I’m from a serious nap on the couch.
I’m from paying bills when I get them,
but letting emails languish unanswered
for far too long.
From texting Dad Jokes to my son
and FaceTimes with the grandsons.
I’m from evenings on the couch with a glass of red
The White Lotus, Severance, and Yellow Jackets,
from deciding if we have enough money
for the next project
dreaming big,
and nights of reenergizing sleep.
Hey, Mo — this is so honest, so real, so familiar. I hope that nap worked out…the one thing that I crave and that too often eludes me. Go for that “next project”! Yea! Hugs, Susie
I loved the line “I am from a pot of tea at dawn, a warm blanket, a book, and dogs on my lap.” That sounds serene.
Oh, how enjoyable (minus the Mucinex, of course). I visualize this relaxing and loving life as if it were my own. Go for it, Mo! Dream big, do the next project. Tomorrow is only a hope.
Cheers
:
I’m from evenings on the couch with a glass of red
Hugs!
Mo — I smiled the whole way through your poem as I traveled with you through your day.
Totally identified with these lines “greys pleading to be touched up” and
“From texting Dad Jokes to my son.”
Mo,
I relate to sooo much of this! (Hello languishing emails!) And there are some great lines (“Today I’m from a serious nap on the couch.”) and real moments. This is great. Thanks for sharing this!
Mo, I want to be from this place too:
“from a pot of tea at dawn,
a warm blanket, a book, and dogs on my lap.” I like how comforting your poem is, and it allows me to slow down.
What a fabulous idea, to focus on ‘today’s version’ – this will be my next focus for ‘I am from.’ My favorite line herein (and this is a tough decision!):
This is the life! We get our needs met!
Stacey, your ancestors will be proud of the way you put words into actions. Your teaching, your writing and your open invitation for us to do the same is giving space for voices to be heard and cultures to be honored. Keep up the good work!
Thanks so much, Anna!
Thank you Stacy. I loved reading about Thrifty ice cream and Lite Brite!
I tried to post this earlier but put a link to Jacqueline Woodson’s first poem in Brown Girl Dreaming and it marked my comment as spam. So, here goes a second try. I love this prompt and am teaching Brown Girl Dreaming, so I based my poem off her first poem in the book, titled February 12, 1963.
March 1, 1973
I am born on a Thursday at South Coast Hospital
Laguna Beach, California,
USA—
A country relieved
At the end of an ill-fought war
That my father escaped
By joining the reserves
And in which my uncle dove
Deep as a submarine diver
In the Pacific on missions
He still can’t talk about.
I am born first of five
My parents firsts too.
I am born not far from the masses in Los Angeles
Where my grandfather was a plumber
And far from Canada where he was once a cowboy
And asked my Grandmother to marry him
The Day the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor.
I was born years before
My mother’s dad lost his thumb
On Great Grandpa’s oil rig in Bakersfield
One less finger to raise in abuse.
I was born part-French
My mother’s family from the Haute Alpes
Beside the border of Italy.
Where my ancestor’s were put on front lines
By Napoleon.
I was born on the heels
Of War and Abuse
Escaping both like the waves that
Swept my ankles on the beach
At our home in San Clemente.
I was given the name of Emily
To remember my great-grandmother’s by.
My dad’s grandma, Emily, who lost her husband young
And was left a single mother.
My mom’s grandma, Emilie, who never learned to speak English
And only returned once to her home in France.
I am born in California
Where the sea swells
Like the blood of my ancestors
In my veins.
Emily, please know that many are grateful for the services of your family members – to the military and other community uplight projects. The work you do continues because, as you say, “the sea swells/Like the blood of my ancestors/In my veins.” The sea swell is pulling good up from the oceans of unrest that keeps our country unsettled. But, like the metaphor, it takes single drops to fill a cup, what you do is filling my cup today with hope for the future, because of your past. Thank you.
Hi Emily,
Thank you for trying again and for this amazing poem. I loved so many aspects of this because you gave us history in such a beautiful story.
Brown Girl Dreaming is a hit and Woodson’s poem is a perfect inspiration for a Where I’m From prompt.
Emily — I love your choice in mentor text and how you wove your history into that of your ancestors. Beautiful metaphors throughout your whole poem. This one especially stood out to me:
“I was born on the heels
Of War and Abuse
Escaping both like the waves that
Swept my ankles on the beach
At our home in San Clemente.”
Where I’m From – Teacher Edition
I am from right after purple dittos
I am from transparencies, overhead projectors,
vis-a-vis markers
I am from a TV wheeled in,
vhs tapes, filmstrips even
I am from a desktop computer,
taking students to the computer lab
I am from clip art, ClarisWorks, AppleWorks, Intaglio
until none of it worked
I am from quickmail, email, make sure you check all the mail
I am from colored cards of standards
bookshelves full of resources
chart stands full of seasonal songs
written with Mr. Sketch on manilla tagboard
I am from interdisciplinary units
Land of Make Believe
Voyage of the Mimi
Lesson plans copied by hand into a steno pad
I am from painting, coloring, cutting and gluing
I am from Stinky Cheese Man and the Math Curse
The birth of Harry Potter, and later
Hunger Games and Twilight
I am from workshop and choice and
students should have a voice
Do I even have to mention
I am from, of course, differentiation
I am from having time for real learning
I am from childhood is a journey not a race
I am from Y2K and even decades later,
I am from the songs from my childhood
like the one Whitney Houston sang the year I was born
I am from I believe Children are our future
You a little over a decade younger than me and it is fun to read the differences and how many of these things I don’t even know- like Math Curse and Stinky Cheese Man, Voyage of Mimi, Land of Make Believe. It’s funny to think the difference a decade or so makes in childhood–especially these days! I especially like your last “I am” lines and how you end it with the song lyrics of Whitney Houston to round of perfectly those last lines.
I love this! The manilla tagboard is calling to me. Love some “oaktag”
thanks for sharing this fun history and tribute to teaching
Onarhought,
What a clever twist—“Where I’m From – Teacher Edition!” Love it. I might have to write my own sometime. Would definitely have some overlap with yours in both artifacts and philosophy. Speaking of which, I like how you move from cataloguing items of times past to timeless philosophies.
Powerful!
Onathought — Oh my gosh, you conjured up some details of those early teaching days that had completely flown my coop. “ClarisWorks”…omgosh! This is a dandy waltz through our careers, mine older than yours, but still. Fun to zip through the reverie. Thank you, Susie
So much of this echos my early teaching years. I didn’t have a computer until I’d taught a decade. Even at the end of my career I still kept a calendar where I tracked what we did each day so I could quickly check when students were absent. Love the last lines and reference to Whitney Houston. My heart hurts for those who don’t know a school experience w/out high stakes testing.
Wow!!!! I had no idea that my prompt today would bring me the level of deep appreciation and awe. I love that you chose your teaching journey as the focus. If I may ask, did you begin in the 80’s? I know ALL of your experiences very well. I had forgotten about ClarisWorks! Ha!
Love this ending and how it speaks to what you (all of us) believe about our children.
This was so fun to read! I love all the teacher memories here and the rhythm of your poem.
I have been teaching for over thirty years and the line about the purple dittos through me back! It was laden with so much memory for me. Thank you for that gift. I love the “colored cards of standards” and the other descriptions of teaching and choice and differentiation. What a lovely, lovely tribute to teaching. This will stick with me today.
or else
I left where I’m from
to grow.
or else.
I left where I’m from
to see things outside
the box.
or else.
I left where I’m from
to meet people
who don’t look
like me.
or else.
I left where I’m from
or else I’d just be
another one of them.
and I’m me because
I left where I’m from.
I love how you used the “or else” refrain and then tied it back in so powerfully. You are brave for stepping out to become yourself. I especially love your ending showing how you wouldn’t be who you were if you wouldn’t have started where you did.
C.O. Welcome outside the box, where it may not be safer, but it certainly is needed. Please know that your leaving means you come to realize that something must be done to improve life for others, and thanks be to God, you’re willing to tip out and step up. Thank you. Take care and keep up the good work. It’ll get scary sometimes, so when it does and you have to step back inside box, take the light of love with you. Okay?
I love your determination in this. Your repeated stanza of “or else” is like a threat to the place that you left and a threat to yourself to succeed.
C.O. — I love the strength in your voice here. In many ways, this resonates with me…so drastic are some of the shifts from past places. I love the whole trajectory here and the strong ME at the end. Way to go! Susie
This resonates w/ me and speaks to kim Johnson’s poem today. I often think about who I’d be had I not left where I was raised. I’ve lived as a cultural minority since 1989. That has helped define my perspective.
I did not know my current job (ELD teacher) even existed when I was growing up. Happy to have left a bubble of homogeneity for a diverse and colorful world. Thanks for reading.
C.O. ooooowweeee! I’m grateful for the way you responded to my prompt. Another very unique way to write Where I’m From. I am also appreciative that you shared something that might have been a dark place to have been, glad you “left where I’m from” to become the best YOU.
The refrain of “or else” packs such a punch. It grows in power from the title to the next to the last stanza. Wow. So well done. I appreciate the structures of the stanzas–the multiple lines (3, 4, 5, 3, 2) creates an almost visual mountain that you had to cross; this reinforced your “or else” so well.
Stacey, I’m thinking we’re from the same childhood decade . . . that olive green shag carpet that’s kind of textured and gives you really bad rug burns when you fall on it, right? Thanks for a chance to revisit a favorite poem form today.
Where I’m from
I’m from Hamburger Helper, spaghetti, and tacos
Ice cream pie at Grandma May’s house– it’s better with sliced bananas on top.
Dad’s fried eggs Saturday mornings that I struggled to eat because their sunny side up-ness
Reminded me of phlegm.
I’m from Saturday morning trips to the public library
We could check out whatever we wanted
I think I checked out every Nancy Drew book, every Cat Fancy magazine, every Little House on the Prairie book
I’m from Looney Tunes cartoons
My brother made an amazing singing frog impression
Foghorn Leghorn, Speedy Gonzales, Pepe LePew
(That poor black and white cat trying to escape him)
Wagner sung by Elmer Fudd and Bugs Bunny
I’m from ancestors who crossed the Midwest plains
Driven from their homes for their religious faith
A nine-year-old ancestor found a nest of baby skunks along the way.
“Look, I found kittens!”
Her dress buried for three days while she stayed in the wagon, wrapped in a blanket
Even in a time of exile, my ancestor found “kitties.”
Speaking of which, I’m from cat whisperers
Dad with a cat stretched napping across his chest
(I tried it once and couldn’t breathe– cats are heavy!)
Brother with kittens following him along Puerto Rico streets
Me with cats molded around me as I sleep.
Most of all, I’m from family.
And family is love.
Sheila, I can relate to so many of these things starting with ice cream pie at my Grandma Mary’s, morning trips to the library, Nancy Drew and Little House. My ancestors crossed the plains because of religious persecution too. (Perhaps they were friends with yours?) I loved your last part about cat whisperers–the image of cats following your brother around Puerto Rican streets!
Emily, you ate ice cream pie, too? Ice cream pie is the best!
Yes, we must be from the same childhood era! I was pulled back in time to delicious memories in the opening:
And I must add, I am a cat lover! I squealed with the skunks being mistaken as kittens. OH MY!
Thank you for sharing your memories. Loved being back there with you.
It’s my favorite family story EVER. My siblings and I would certainly have been doing the same thing if we had been crossing the plains– my brother would have led us to them.
Sheila, what a precious poem. The ancestor who found the skunk “kittens”–oh my, that would be a story for the ages. You’ll always pass that one along. And I love the extension of all the cat lovers in your family. Then, the sweet and tender switch to the ending “family is love” So lovely!
Is it cheating if I link an older poem I wrote?
Here’s this from a few years ago: Where I’m From – Northwest Indiana Literary Journal
I need to revisit/redirect a new Where I’m From every few years probably.
It’s not cheating, Luke. I love this line, I’m from the four seasons, but not equally divided. And of course, go Sox!
Hi Luke,
No, it’s perfectly fine to share a poem already written. Thank you for sharing this. I loved these lines:
You give us all the visuals we can appreciate in your poem.
Loved this too:
Luke, I hope you will continue to revisit Where I’m From and take a new journey. It’s amazing how many different poems come forth. Today’s poets have shared a multitude of ways to respond to Where I’m From.
Thanks, Luke!
Wow, Luke, you really know Indiana. I like the line “the other neighbors are rows and rows of corn and soybeans.” I also liked how one could gather your details and learn more about where you were talking about. Nicely written.
Stacey, thanks for hosting today. Your poem is rich with details that show up close and personal experiences and cultural connections. The last few lines really resonated for me: “I’m from ancestors cries for freedom some day
To looking back and wondering how to make a way.”
A Litany of Voices Riding Shotgun in My Head
I’m from a litany of voices riding shotgun in my head:
In or out? Don’t let the flies in!
Get outside and don’t come back until you hear me call!
Let’s play—kick the can, football, baseball, hide and seek, in the woods, raid
Can we please have 30 cents to go swimming?
Hell, no!
When you’re at the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on!
Behave! Be nice! Be good! Don’t lie to me!
Did you say please? Did you thank them for the ride?
Quit fighting, I’m trying to read the Bible.
Just wait ‘til Dad gets home!
Son of a biscuit!
Come on, jump!
Go ninety! Wanna get high? Barracuda!
Where’s my blouse?
Are you 18?
I’m gonna kick your ass!
F u and the horse you rode in on!
Barb, Dad’s out looking for you! (heeeheeeheee)
Oh, shit!
Barb Edler
6 April 2025
Really great first line! I love that
Barb, this is great! I love the idea of capturing what people in your life said all the time. Did you thank them for the ride? I forgot about that– my mom ALWAYS asked me that!
Now, that’s a title, Barbara. I love that voice in “Hell, no!” intruding on the childhood wishes and flipping the poetic script. And then that turn toward Barb! Ha.
Oh my gosh, Barb, I can hear every voice in the litany, and the ring of every tone. I want to laugh and hide in turn – “Don’t let the flies in!” – “ “Where’s my blouse/Are you 18?” Heaven help us all! It’s a wonder, sometimes, that we got to this point “(C’mon, jump!”). This poem is lively from start to finish, telling whole stories in quick phrases from a host of characters. I love it all.
This is a funny remembrance of all those voices. I can relate to “Dad’s out looking for you!
My Dad used to do that and be waiting outside the field to see my walk home.
Oh my gosh, Barb — This is a bonafide favorite of mine. I love this poem. Almost every single one of these admonitions is straight out of my past. I just wanna hug you…there is some serious sista bond here. I like this poem so much that I think I’m going to have to work on a piece that resurrects that classic snark in my family…the statements that just rip to the core of where I stood in the family mess. I really LOVED the line “Quit fighting…Bible” LOLOLOL! Hugs, Susie
Barb,
Lots of echos in my head reading your verse today. I smiled and laughed and nodded. You framed the poem perfectly, suggesting those voices stay with us. I’ve heard this one:
“In or out? Don’t let the flies in!”
I remember asking my mom for money when she was sleeping and automatically said, yes. My brother heard this one often:
“Just wait ‘til Dad gets home!”
I was a perfect child who rarely got in trouble.
Barb,
OMG, this is such a fun ride! I can’t believe how many poets today have found a new way to respond but yet still sharing our life stories in some form.
Today, I heard a discussion about leadership and one person said we continue to hear the words of our parents and our teachers for what seems like forever.
I laughed at your opening lines of the poem and then again here at the end!
Love it all, Barb. Thank you so much for sharing with us.
Barb,
Ah! All those voices that live in our head. I love these remembrances, and the picture they paint of your past life. “Son of a biscuit!” made me laugh, and some of these I heard when I was growing up!
Haha! What a long string of things you heard as a child, and still perhaps because of that great title and first line. It’s hard to choose, but I think I like the “Let’s play…” line the best.
Where I’m From poems are such a great form to explore. i have to say, it really calls in to some of the great hip hop traditions and songs that are rooted in place. Your mentor poem is SO good–the colors and imagery in the first section and the histories that you explore throughout. I really enjoyed reading and hearing it. I flipped the assignment a little bit and wrote a “Where I’m at” poem. Thanks for the direction today, Stacey!
Where I’m at
They say
It’s not where ya from
It’s where ya at…
So where’s that?
A crossroads
An intersection
Armed with the fact
That you can never
Be armed with enough–
Facts…
Starting over
Over starting
Ignition turning
And plenty of gas
But 2 hours from
Anywhere…
Dialed in
Tuned out
Forward lookin’
But calling back
Unsettled
Settling in…
Called on
For advice
Knowing
I got no
Answers;
Wiser?
Older.
Still on
this journey
Not quite there
But where I’m at.
Dave,
love your “where ya at” variation
Love the movement and word play contradictions of this stanza:
Love the vernacular you use!
Dave, I really enjoyed how your structured this piece and ended with “But where I’m at”. Your word choices are phenomenal, and I especially liked the metaphor with the stanza “Starting over” I often feel I’m 2 hours from Anywhere”. I know the feeling of being asked for advice when “I got no/Answers;” Fantastic poem full of a myriad of mixed emotions.
Dave,
I like the approach you took. I’ve spent much of my life feeling as though I’m transitioning from one stage of life to another.
Hey Dave! I am loving the questioning and the play on words.
I also hear a lesson in the poem to not focus on the future, stay in the present and appreciate “where I’m at.”
Thank you for this poem and for being here today.
Dave, this is a beautiful liminal space poem. Love the quick clips and fast pace of this beauty!
Stacey, your poem is beautiful. I love that you keep writing new ones. So much to love in these poems, and I do feel we get to know others through them.
I too am from Thrifty’s cones for 5 cents a scoop on my day. This is gorgeous: “To verses of empowerment leaking from my bones.” And the end, wow!
Here’s mine, inspired by Scott’s jobs poem. Here are my homes, as written on my phone, in the back seat while driving to CSULB for my niece’s concert…Yikes.
———-——————–
I am from the post-war boxy and basic stucco, sides splitting with kids who seemed to marry just in time for the next ones
And my first apartment shared with an artist on Clark Avenue
And the windowed beauty with Terry and Christine
And the upstairs apartment where little Mia downstairs always wanted to play
And the hundred-year-old 16th Street house with a mouse and my new husband, who woke the neighbor steaming milk for his lattes
And the little ADU behind Mitch and Joyce’s where we made plum sauce from the best plum tree ever
And the wallpapered horror on Delaware Street in Iowa
And the freezing-water-pipe house on Arizona Avenue in Iowa
And our very first home purchase in Michigan where we planted a ginkgo
And the ranch house with a pool to survive the Phoenix summers
And the house that needed new windows (we realized after we bought it)
And the white-tiled, white-walled flat in Bahrain with dust and the call to prayer
And now, after a lifetime of homes, our little cabin continues daily calling out “home” to us.
I so love this idea, Denise! I’m going to copy you and to this very thing!
The naming of the places and the details shared make this such a treasure.
Denise, your poem showcases the many places you have been, and I can just imagine that house with the wallpaper horrors in Iowa. It’s clear you’ve found your extra special place to call home.
I love the idea of chronicling all the houses you’ve lived in!
Denise,
I left you a comment on this poem earlier, but I see it’s not here, so I’ll try and reconstruct my thoughts.
I love this poem! like that you chose to structure your poem with one salient detail about each place that you lived. What a great variation on the where I’m from poem. And each detail gives a hint at the larger context of your life during that time. I feel like I watched you grow through so many life changes. Your poem has an intimacy that made me feel like we we’re close friends of family having a conversation about stories we’ve already shared many times and that you’re using a shorthand description to jog my memory of each place.
Hard to pick a favorite, but I especially liked
and
Congratulations on the cabin “home” of your last stanza.
Thanks for bringing us along on this lovely journey!
Denise,
The best thing about poetry and specifically this type of poem is all we learn about one another. I love learning all the details of your various homes, each one made special through your words. Beautiful concluding lines w/ home “calling out home.”
Denise, again, I’ve said it multiple times in comments today…thank you for taking the prompt in a new direction. I love this so much. I’m thinking I need a list of “Ways to Share Where I’m From” or something like that.
I have not had many addresses/residences so mine would be pretty dull. However, people who’ve been able to experience life in multiple locations could write a phenomenal poem like you.
Hugs, Denise!
Your prompts are always great fun, Stacey. Thanks.
I’m From…
I’m from the dreams of a soldier
and his far away wife
near the beach sands and the ocean
I’m from the California sun
warming my back
I’m from a house on a hill
in the country
with a horse and a garden
I’m from the warm desert dunes
I’m from a bus full of people
and a lover of travel
I’m from the cool, crisp, lofty mountains of Nepal
eating dal bhat with my hands
with tired feet below
and yaks
I’m from the saipans of Hong Kong
under the eyes of a woman
telling me to “buy!”
I’m from the colors of Peru
the children with kohl darkened eyes
leading llamas
in high altitude fog
of Machu Picchu
I’m from the the trains of Mexico
winding down a snow covered mountain
into a village
full of cattle
I’m from the dreams of a second soldier
to be his wife
near the beach sands and the ocean
I’m from the California sun
bringing me home.
Susan, the imagery of all the places you’re from are magnificent. I also appreciate the sensory appeal, and the “dreams of a second soldier”. The last two lines feel like an embrace. Beautiful poem!
I loved how you began your poem…”I’m from the dreams of a soldier and his far away wife.” I also liked how you ended your poem…”I’m from the California sun bringing me home.”
Susan, this is beautiful… I like the way you bracket your own life and journeys between your opening and closing lines like that second soldier and his wife are still holding you in their arms. A lovely poem!
Susan,
Your poem is ethereal and gorgeous. Since we traveled to Peru last September, these lines transported me:
”I’m from the colors of Peru
the children with kohl darkened eyes
leading llamas
in high altitude fog
of Machu Picchu”
Susan, this is pure beauty! I love the way you start us off with the soldier and the california sun and end back there “bringing me home.” Beautiful poem, Susan. Thank you for sharing today.
Susan, I love the beginning and ending of your poem including the soldier and his wife and the beach sands and the ocean. What a beautiful story. And the travelings within the poem are described gloriously.
Thank you, Stacey! It is wild how different my responses are, each time I encounter this prompt.
I am from
I am from
“oh you must be a little princess”
only girl in the midst of four boys
I am from tagging along with my brothers
climbing trees, playing HORSE,
running hard and sweaty with a football
neighborhood games of capture the flag
I am from Mom trying to keep me inside
I am from shipyards, base housing, and
shopping at the commissary and PX
I am from parochial school,
chapel veils, rosaries, and
“No, you cannot wear pants to church.”
I am from house collectibles of
crucifixes and submarines
I am from packing boxes, moving trucks
up and down the East Coast,
new schools, outsider
I am from Dad’s in Vietnam
Mom’s psychotic breaks
I am from learning to walk on eggshells
and silence I could cut with a knife
I am from “This is not a story
to be shared outside this house.”
I am from meat and potatoes,
hot dogs and beans, and canned bread
I am from Sunday drives for High’s ice cream
I am from listening closely
observation and suspicion
What’s really going on?
What’s being kept from me?
I am from weekly trips to the library
Nancy Drew and The Boxcar Children
I am from losing myself in a good book
I am from keeping a diary and
hoping for better
Maureen, your poem radiates a difficult childhood. I appreciate the food, the parent issues, and the questions you shared. The last two lines add a sense of hope, but also a prayer that you can find something better. Very moving poem! Hugs!
So much learning our norms and behaviors from what was “acceptable” at home. Thank you for the brave sharing of where you come from. Keep on writing
Gosh, Maureen — There’s some wicked tough stuff here. Some rings familiar and some I’ve not experienced (moving up and down the East Coast). Military life…oh lordy…you get a special place in the hereafter, cuz that is genuinely a whole ‘nother animal for kids. One of my very closest friends has very similar experiences, and we talk through this life a lot. I think my favorite line is the provocative point/counterpoint of “crucifixes and submarines.” I love the hope at the end…and the hope that comes through so many of the fine poems you write here in this space. Thank you for sharing such a rich “where I’m from…” Susie
Maureen,
I learn so much from this genre of poetry, even when I’ve read so much already. I did not know you attended parochial schools, did I? That line about not wearing pants to church hit. Glad those days are gone. This line shows the challenges you faced w/ a dad in the military and a mom with mental health issues. I wish I knew the origin of that lesson in my life.
“This is not a story
to be shared outside this house.”
Ooohhh, this hits me hard in so many ways. I feel for the little Maureen here and I also cheer for her when she plays outside her brothers. I found these lines to be loaded:
I wonder if your diary is holding all the stories.
Thank you, Maureen, for sharing these memories.
Maureen, I liked your introduction about writing this differently every time you encounter this prompt. This is beautiful and your vulnerability is appreciated. I like the stanza about being surrounded by brothers and your mom trying to keep you inside. The ending “hoping for better” is my favorite.
Thanks Stacey for a tried and true friend of a prompt. I’ve written long versions, but today I decided to try a very short form…a Haiku. Can I express some aspect of where I am from in just 17 syllables? Here goes…
Where I’m From: Moonlight Beach version
walking sandy shores
osprey soar, egrets wait — breathe
in sea, breathe out home.
Kim Douillard
4/6/25
https://thinkingthroughmylens.com/2025/04/06/where-im-from-npm25-day-6/
This haiku is absolutely beautiful. Love your placement of the command ‘breathe’ with ‘wait’, at the end of line two, inviting the reader to do the same.
Wow! I love everything you were able to capture in this haiku! I feel soothed reading it.
This poem is short, but it’s packed with so much feeling and imagery. Thank you.
Kim,
I adore your haiku. I am now convinced there’s a Where I’m From hiding inside haiku!
Where I’m Going
I decided to write about where I’m going because this year is a big year for my family. My daughter is a senior in college and just accepted a nursing job in Chicago. My son is living on his own an hour and a half away and in a relationship with someone from Long Island. Neither of them will be living at home with us again. My life is changing and shifting. I am not ready for it, and I wish I could go back in time. However, I keep reminding myself of something a dear friend said to me when my son went off to college. “This is the next logical step, Heather.” Yes, logical, but also so emotional.
Ready or Not
I know where
I’m going.
There is no question.
I am flying to
an empty nest.
No choices here,
just the natural progression
of this bird’s life.
However, there are
a few spots
I’d like to stop by
before I land
in that barren nest.
I’m going to soar
to my daughter
as she wraps up
her epic four years
In Madison, Wisconsin.
We’re going to explore
Chicago to find
a new home
for her as she
takes flight as a nurse
in a new city.
I hope for some
shorter floats
on wooded trails
and sandy beaches
closer to home
to soak up
whatever time
I have left
with my girl
when she visits this summer
and to reunite with friends,
to chirp and sing
about life and our kids.
Eventually, I will land
in that empty nest
to ponder future flights
and who I want to be.
Adventures are waiting.
I’m going to coast
with a river boat
up the Rhine River
from Basel, Swtizerland
to Amsterdam-
new sights to be seen.
And when back at home,
I will flit to some classes
on writing and knitting
so I can stay active
in my nest,
bringing back twigs, leaves, and dried grass
to add to and decorate
the nest
so it does not feel
so empty
for long.
Heather–I love this! And the way you carried the bird/flight/nest metaphor throughout. I wish you comfort and joy in your new phase of nest–I’m sure it will not feel empty for long.
I adore all the bird movements in you poem. Envisioning your return to an empty nest as that of a bird, is, I think, inspiring. Birds prepare their nests for the next great thing. Heather, what I am also astounded about is that your daughter is graduating college! My goodness, I think she was just graduating high school when I first connected with you in this space. How fast time moves.
Maureen, you are correct. That is when we first connected. Thank you for remembering that. Time sure does fly by so fast.
Where I’m going. Great idea to guide your thoughts this direction.
I love all the references to nesting material and bird song. A really beautiful phase of your life is yet to come. Seeing the little birdies grow their own big wings because of you. Thanks for sharing and hugs!
Heather,
love the extended bird metaphor and especially your last stanza:
Wow, Heather, as much as I fear birds I enjoyed your metaphor. It’s always so hard when the children are all gone and we feel that emptiness like a weight that will never lift. Then suddenly, it’s okay and we can live a new phase of life. I hope you enjoy the time you get with your daughter. Congrats on her new endeavors and new home. It’s time to enjoy being YOU as yourself, not as Mom 24/7. I promise, it gets better.
Thanks for sharing with us.
Thank you Stacey for taking us on a trip down memory lane and for making me relive memories of things that I really enjoy.
Where I’m from, there are stories of my grandmother—Nani,
Tales of life in the olden days, and of struggles that lasted a lifetime.
Where I’m from, we walk to the village market,
Where I’d buy piping hot gato zinzli (sesame balls) with her.
Where I’m from, there is the love of my mother—
Cherishing, nurturing, and caring like no other.
She fulfilled my every little wish,
Her gentle kisses wiped away tears,
Her arms comforted me through my fears.
Where I’m from, our plates hold noodles, butter chicken, biryani, and salted fish—
Food from around the world,
And dishes we proudly call our own.
Where I’m from, we read Shakespeare, Eliot, Ibsen, and the like,
But we also celebrate Dev Virahsawmy, Natacha Appanah, and more.
Where I’m from, we speak in many tongues—
We code-switch from English to French to Bhojpuri to Hindi,
We blend language like we blend spices,
Creating a melody that’s uniquely ours.
Where I’m from, we wear an abaya for prayer,
A gown for the party, and a saree to the wedding—
Draped in meaning, culture, and celebration.
Where I am from it’s not the food, the clothes or the language that defines us…
Where I’m from is only a tiny island in the middle of the Indian Ocean
where people have hearts of gold,
Where I’m from, the ocean hugs the land like a mother holds her child,
And the mountains rise like quiet protectors.
Mauritius, my home—small in size, but mighty in emotions.
What a wonderful blend of culture, generational love and beauty! You are fortunate.
Where you are from sounds like a slice of heaven – this “tiny island in the middle of the Indian Ocean/ where people have hearts of gold, ” How marvelous to be surrounded and immersed in so many different languages; I think my favorite line is
I am in awe of this everyday:
“Where I’m from, we speak in many tongues—
We code-switch from English to French to Bhojpuri to Hindi,
We blend language like we blend spices,
Creating a melody that’s uniquely ours.”
I also love how you describe the landscape: “Where I’m from, the ocean hugs the land like a mother holds her child,
And the mountains rise like quiet protectors.”
Thanks for sharing, Kratijah!
Soooo loving. Every child deserves this kind of loving mom.
I don’t think I’ve ever heard blending language like blending spices! That’s FIRE!! Your poem is a lesson and a loving tribute to your culture, family and all that makes you beautiful.
Thank you for sharing your poem with us.
I am from Sunday papers
rolled so thick we could only
stuff a few in the bags, this
paper route my introduction
to a life of employment and
I am from stacked bus tubs
of dirty dishes and questionable
work habits and
I am from loaded popcorn
tubs (with layered butter)
walking up and down the
aisles as the latest blockbuster
splayed across the screen and
I am from early mornings,
unloading pallets into the
Meijer warehouse, where
more grizzled “workers”
would sleep between the
stacks and I am from
midnight assisted-living help
and group home outings
to the mall or Cedar Point and
I am from a brief stint as a
Donut Artist working in
a bakery and
a painter for my college’s
apartment complex and
a tutor for a
Romanian couple
but mostly I am from
grading essays
and great Literature
and MLA formatting
(always with the
MLA formatting)
and
here
I am
from here,
too,
I realize
this home
away from
home
____________________________________________
Thank you, Stacey, for your beautiful mentor poem and your prompt! I love the lines, “I’m from playing school every day / To teaching in my calling for 39 years” and “To verses of empowerment leaking from my bones.” So good! For my offering, I spent a brief walk down (mostly) the memory lane of my various opportunities of “gainful employment” in my life.
Whenever I write to this prompt, I tend to go way back to childhood, but at this age there is so much more to where I’m from. Thank you for that reminder. I never thought to write about my previous professions. I will have to revisit this prompt from that slant. I love the ending and agree that writing communities are a home.
“I am/from here/too,/I realize” – such a gift of words, a gift with words, Scott. It is true, we are from this place, too. What a wonderful flashback to think about how thick those newspapers once were – I remember stuffing the sleeves with my brother, for his paper route…he always needed extra help with those Sunday editions.
Scott,
Fun to see all your jobs. And how they do and don’t relate to each other.
Like the humor of the MLA parenthetical and love that you ended with our writing community.
Scott! Yes, love the choice to focus on your work history for us to learn where you’re from. I can’t believe how much you’ve done before teaching. My work history is barely 3 short, part-time jobs before teaching. These lines speak to how much our teaching is a part of our being! Thank you, Scott!
Joy, this is probably the longest poem I’ve posted here in Verselove. “Where I’ve from” from the farm to town and all around, took longer than I thought it would take. But writing about reminded, once again, of the friends made along the way
From Pigs to Pineapples
When I was a kid, I lived on a farm,
I didn’t pay much attention.
Buckets on arms, we had our chores,
We’d get all our water from a pump,
And into the pig pen our garbage we’d dump.
It is not far from the outhouse, but both are outdoors.
My preteens and teen years,
I spent in Detroit, then called Motown.
That was really different.
We still had our chores and road buses around.
But we couldn’t be outdoors much.
Even though street lights brightened the night.
Once married, I moved to Missouri
But my husband worked in Illinois
So that meant crossing the Mississippi River
Twice, each and every day, south, north, south
We’d drive north from home to his job at Monsanto
Then I’d drive back south to mine at Beaumont High
Seeing the Gateway Arch inch high up into the sky.
That’s been our life; moving, but staying together
From Michigan to Missouri
From Missouri up North to Western New York
From there, farther east to Massachusetts and
Across the continent to Southwest California.
Wow! What differences in weather!
Three kids are born along the way
They had their chores and got to play
Outside and sometimes without sweaters.
They got to see planes flying high
From the Miramar Marine Corps Air Station.
Though we now live back in Michigan
We often travel West for vacation
Even flying across the ocean to Hawaii.
Ah from pigs to pineapples, but never alone!
We can keep up with each of our friends
Just call them on our cell phone.
I love the line “Ah from pigs to pineapples, but never alone!” It was fund to read about all of the places you have lived. Your poem packed in a lot of your history of place.
Hi Anna. I’m so glad you chose a longer form today. It’s great getting to know mare about you. You’ve really been around! Thanks for sharing your story.
Hi Anna,
Thank you for such a well crafted poem of your travels and your life. This line is a great piece of advice for new couples to recognize there is always going to be movement and change but they must always work to stay together:
And I’m sure that’s the best title I’ve seen in a long time!
Stacey,
Thanks for hosting and prompting a reflective trip down memory lane.
Your first two lines — and a few others—could have fit into my poem and made me smile in recognition:
Love how we get to see you move from playing school to teaching:
and
Love the power and reflection of your last lines:
————————————————————
I’m from the mountains and fir trees of the St. John Valley
where I never lived
I’m from visiting my grandparents there in the summer
Hiking along the snowmobile trails
Learning to skip rocks on Long Lake
Being teased by my grandfather as I followed him around as he puttered in his old green work pants with the slashes of white paint
I’m from learning to roll out a pie crust on my grandmother’s oilcloth-covered kitchen table
after picking wild blueberries in the woods up the hill
I’m from walking in the cold of the brook with my brother and my cousins
I’m from homemade pizza and Walt Disney Presents versus Sixty Minutes on Sunday night
I’m from riding to the park with all the kids on the block before helmets and cell phones
I’m from the Bobbsey Twins, the Boxcar Children and Anne of Green Gables
I’m from Luke and Leia and E.T. phone home
I’m from building endless worlds with Legos and Tinkertoys
I’m from Lite-Brite pegs, Mr. Potato Head body parts and Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down
I’m from smashing Silly Putty on the Sunday Funnies
I’m from picking Playdough out of shag carpet
I’m from racing big wheels and Matchbox cars
I’m from meep meep, Hong Kong Phoey and Yabba Dabba Do
I’m from hydrogen peroxide and bandaids
I’m from tearing the perforated strips off the giant stacks of white and green striped computer paper our Dad brought us home from work to make and fly paper airplanes
I’m from big bowls of popcorn with the.whole family when the Sound of Music and Wizard of Oz and the Peanuts specials came on every year
I’m from picking to either lick the beaters or the bowl
I’m from a family that takes care of each other through cancers, transplants, and trachs
I’m from grandmothers who taught me to find and compliment the good in others and to have faith
I’m from a mother I’m grieving
who taught me to be laugh when things go wrong
to look for the positive
and to be grateful
Sharon, what a trip down memory lane! So many of your lines make me think of my childhood. Your childhood sounds idyllic! Your adulthood sounds pretty good, too!
Sharon, it sounds like a beautiful childhood visiting your grandparents. Learning to roll pie crust and the wild blueberries make me hungry. I like making a choice between licking the bowl or the beaters. And, the best are those dear memories of your mother and her positive attitude that she passed on to you. Beautiful!
Hi Sharon,
I love that I went back in time with your poem. Many of your experiences were mine as well. The ending brought me to tears because I still grieve my mom.
Loved this because I found some Silly Putty in an old box and saved it. For some reason I think maybe it’s worth a gazillion dollars. LOL. Thanks, Sharon, for sharing with us.
Thank you for this perfect prompt.
I am forming
I am from one magic moment when you consider
universes
I am formless
I am from worlds and words that will never be
fathomed
I am formidable
I am from a blue blip with all its
Impossibilities
Ooooooh, Kasey…this is wonderful. I love the three stanzas with the different derivatives of FORM. The structure here is genius and works so well with the content.
Kasey, your structure your poem shows your evolving and exploring “forming,” “formless,” and “formidable.” I love this: “I am from one magic moment when you consider / universes.” Beautiful!
what beautiful use of the forms of … form. Lovely piece thank you for sharing.
Kasey,
This is so powerful in just nine lines!! Loved how you worked with variations of “form” to share who you are.
Before What’s Next
You ever think you’ve lived where you’re from so long
that there’s nothing original to you,
like how the tulip blooms from the same bulb year after year?
I live in the dormant bulb now, most days
shooting new roots into soils, waiting to pull myself out of this
body. Funny thing about growing up, the past’s hold is so
tight, it’s a skin you need to bloom
anew, and a hand you need to transplant you.
I enjoyed this poem immensely and how you kept the metaphor throughout. I spoke to something I have been feeling in my middle age- how do we continue to grow especially in environments where everyone seems content to just be?I love the last line. I see it as a hope for community care or for at least someone brave enough to shake up our gardens, Thank you for sharing.
Sarah, this is wonderful. The comparison to the tulip is soooo apt. I have tulip bulbs that never bloom, and I’ve pondered the botany of the bulb and the blooming this spring. So your poem bloomed right here on my page. Yes, being in one place “so long/that there’s nothing original” is a provocative question. I like the idea of “shooting new roots”… I think there is a beautiful blossom there, my friend, and the past will yield to that as you lean into your most exquisite color. Hugs, Susie
Sarah, to me, these lines seem to capture your desire for change: “I live in the dormant bulb now, most days / shooting new roots into soils, waiting to pull myself out of this / body.” And then “the past’s hold is so tight” reinforces that desire to break out of past, and even present. Beautiful comparison to a tulip bulb! I also like a philosophical nature of your narration in this poem. Thank you.
Whhhoaaaa! I am consistently in awe of how you take a prompt and create something so original and thought provoking. I am wondering if this poem speaks to your plans in June? If so, I believe you will be able to find new blooms soon. That dormant bulb is about to release you.
Thank you, Sarah, for another special gift for us to enjoy.
Sarah, wow, you’ve created a magnificent poem through the tulip bulb metaphors. I especially enjoyed “Funny thing about growing up, the past’s hold is so
tight, it’s a skin you need to bloom
anew, and a hand you need to transplant you.” The sensory appeal squeezes the heart. “Before What’s Next” sounds like a line I forgot to put into my poem, “What fresh hell is next?” Powerful piece!
Such a lovely visual. I had the same direction for my poem today. Definitely growth to come from where you are and need to go. Lovely.
Stacey, thank you so much for your prompt and a mentor poem. I love learning more and more about you, and this poem allows me see your beautiful soul from many points. When you mentioned “gumbo for the New Year,” I was looking for the connection to Louisiana, and, sure thing, you are “from the Johnsons of New Orleans. These lines portray you so clearly:
“I’m from words on the ceiling late at night
To verses of empowerment leaking from my bones.”
I will come back to comment on the poems throughout the day.
I Am from Crimea, Ukraine
I am from vast fields of sunflowers and poppies,
Feeding off the sun and spreading joy to people.
I am from breathtaking views of the Black Sea,
Waterfalls, mountains, steppes, and valleys—
I am from Crimea, Ukraine.
I am from fresh-brewed coffee in a djezve,
Its aroma inviting neighbors for a cup.
From signature Crimean Tatar chebureki, dolma, and pilav,
From fruit compote and clear-as-tears spring water—
I am from Crimea, Ukraine.
I am from Zore and Abdzhamil,
Two tough souls working day and night
To provide for eight hungry mouths.
I am from Mom, who treated us as her fingers—
No matter which one gets scarred, it hurts the same.
I am from a Dad rushing home before sunrise
With warm baked bread for breakfast.
I am from five sisters and two brothers
Who would give their lives
To protect their baby sister.
From ball games in the streets,
From generous mulberry trees
Climbed with friends to reach sweet berries—
I am from Crimea, Ukraine.
I am from my sister’s house destroyed,
Shattered by enemy shelling.
From an old well that survived,
From people who hurry to check on neighbors
After each horrifying strike.
I am from willpower, strength, and freedom
To choose—
I am from Crimea, Ukraine!
*Chebureki – meat pies
*Dolma – stuffed sweet peppers
*Djezve – a special pot for making coffee
Leilya, thank you for sharing Ukraine with us. It’s beautiful. I’m so sorry what’s been happening to your country and family. I can only imagine. Thanks for teaching me some good words from your culture! I can sense your pride with the repetition and final exclamation!
What a beautiful tribute to a beautiful heritage and home. All the images are filled with love and hope. I find myself longing to be there too. Thank you for sharing.
Leilya — I love the strong voice in this poem. It has to be hard, these awful days of seeing Ukraine abandoned by this administration. Your homeland in such peril …your family… I so appreciated seeing through your poem the “ball games in the street” and your dad with “the warm baked bread” and “clear as tears spring water”… I wish for peace, for our lands to help each other…for the nightmares to stop. Hugs, Susie
To so many of us Ukraine is just a country where hear about and that many of us align with in the name of humanity. But to you it’s home and you help us see it as more than just a proper noun on CNN.
Beautiful, Leilya!
Leilya, you’ve crafted another amazing poem to show your culture and the horror of war. Thank you for sharing the definitions to the Ukranian words you’ve used in this. The part about your mother and the fingers is particularly striking. I’ve learned so much about you by reading this poem. Thank you!
Leilya, I’m with everyone else here, too, thank you for sharing and personifying Ukraine for us! And I love your rallying cry at the end: “I am from willpower, strength, and freedom / To choose– / I am from Crimea, Ukraine!”
Leilya,
This is another touching poem. I learn so much about your childhood and wish all children knew that love and beauty in their homes. These last lines are a stark reminder of how so much can change because of one evil man.
Leilya, my friend, thank you for sharing your beautiful poem and giving me the imagery needed to connect more closely to you. I pray that peace returns to you and your loved ones. I’m grateful for your strength.
[With a nod to dear John Lewis, RIP.]
GOOD TROUBLE
The tail of the coin—
from Dad: I fight this every day,
I’m from bitter regrets,
though I push back,
step forward,
break away;
from competing with ghosts,
I wrestle, squirm,
till their hold is frayed;
from angers brooding,
Decompress! Decompress!
Untangle this unholy mess.
Though from mistakes, contradictions, trouble,
I come from more than narrow view,
toss that glance, you must eschew;
instead, look twice and flip the coin;
the head from Mama,
a kinder place, a Zanadu:
I’m from school,
the work, the talk, the writing
with other people discerning, learning,
not an endgame,
but a way of breathing
each day;
show evidence, I’m believing;
from working hard at patience;
from long walks,
Nature,
chores;
I’m from music, painting, artistic choices,
guitars, pianos, voices,
music is the backdrop,
I’m always up for more;
I’m from a kitchen, larder stocked,
table, wooden chairs,
the recipe:
a launchpad;
the creativity, the jabber:
the point;
from yeasty cinnamon rolls on Saturday morning;
from ferocious games of Scrabble, wordplay;
from a string of hilarious, raucous, witty, cousins,
Steinbach DNA;
from the grit it took to wade up and out of grinding poverty,
from sharing and loving hard and steady.
I’m from good trouble all the way.
by Susie Morice, April 6, 2025©
Hi Susie,
Thank you for sharing your story through both of your parents’ contributions to the wonderful SUSIE. I think it’s so clever how you deliver the shifts in perspective:
You are most definitely “good trouble” my friend! Thank you, Susie.
I love this, Susie! You “contain multitudes” as ole Walt would say: you are “from bitter regrets,” “from competing with ghosts” to “discerning, learning” as “a way of breathing,” from “creativity” and “sharing and loving hard and steady.” And that last line — “I’m from good trouble all the way.” So perfect!
Wow, your poem is kickass! I love the imagery and emotions you create through your word choice and specific details. The lines: “not an endgame,
but a way of breathing
each day; ” really resonated for me. I absolutely adore the way you ended this one “I’m from good trouble all the way”. Powerful poem showing your grit, humor and familial connections! Rock on, Susie!
Oh, just what I was needed today after reading all the protest signs across the country. Good trouble in all it’s forms and from its origins within all of us that live a little different in our poems. And hell, yes, to “out of grinding poverty.”
Susie, it’s so good to learn more about your and your parents from this poem. I love that you are from “good trouble all the way.” there are so many lines I want to bring up here, but I also like how you occasionally rhyme the ending two lines in a stanza, and it gives such an interesting echo sound effect: Decompress-mess and choices-voices. Thank you for writing and sharing!
Susie,
I felt the Missouri girl throughout your poem. You are a true artist, as this catalogue shows:
“music, painting, artistic choices,
guitars, pianos, voices,
music is the backdrop,”
Maybe it’s that “show me” spirit that makes us seek out good trouble. Having regrets resonates. Some are doozies. I’ve never understood those w/ no regrets.
Oh, this is a fun way to tackle this prompt. The heads and tails of attributes from both of your dear parents. And being “from good trouble all the way” Brava!
Wonderful, Joy. Wonderful. Crazy to think we’ve been finding a way to promote student voices through George Ella Lyons for more than two decades. It’s classic, and more often than not gets them writing. I love that you also allude to the forgotten Queens and Kings of Africa. I went with the memories of place with an intention to locate myself here, right now, playing with refrains (the opposite of being from…but leading me to…)
At This Moment, Right Now
b.r.crandall
His name was hank, I suppose,
dad the hunk, back when eggs
were cheaper & more romantic,
and birds & bees weren’t aware
of current climate calamities.
i suppose that’s how i got here.
the clicking of 4 a.m. lighters,
Clam Bars, & where the hell is your father now,
those ashtrays filled with True Blue 100s
& Lucky Strikes, & him out on the streets
somewhere yucking it up with Karl.
i got here somehow, i suppose.
listening to Sherburne drums marching Main Street,
the a.m. radio talking smack about politicians,
the diet coke cans, and Milwaukee Beasts,
beating their chest for Roman & Marlena,
to drip through the hour glass
(so were the days of our lives)…
I can hear the soft chirping cadence
of spring, lake frogs who were always in the mood,
unless Grandpa croaked.
not tonight, kids. not tonight.
This, a childhoodbefore brass instruments
harmonized on the field with northern stars
that danced between silk & sabres,
rifling precision to auld lang syne.
i got here, supposedly, somehow.
with lawnmowers & snowplows
that brought the sound of music
to Mr. Wonka offering those kids,
a little nonsense now & then,
relished by the wisest men.
There was Peter’s mom calling him home
for dinner & the first butterflies that
arrived from pool somersaults
and learning about sinuses
in the humidity of Kentucky,
its unforgettable bluegrass promise
of crayola boxes & individuality,
where portfolios brought student brilliance
& every kid was projected to be a
culminating project of their own.
somehow, i got here.
surviving watersheds of possibilities
hours in libraries piecing together untold histories
from coursework & cursework…
remaining as a little Toto
always awaiting Alfredo’s edits
for those kisses…
but Elena, Elena,
I still dance to Blues Traveler,
still stand alive for this moment,
still look to the moon
for bringing its tides
to what it’s supposed to mean,
because somehow I’m still here
right now.
Supposedly.
Oh, Bryan. The somehow is answered so lyrically in these stanzas situated in specific scenes and with specific people propelling or shaping the speaker toward or away the there to the “here.” So many allusions. Makes me think of the readers of our poems and how they situate us in similar or unfamiliar times as places to witness. “Supposedly.”
Two tone words ran though my brain: weary and alive. I think this poem packed so much in a small space with the allusions Sarah mentioned. I often find myself using the conjunction “and” everywhere but not ampersand “&”. I liked that you used that as a substitution.
I’m a glutton for the consonance used throughout, and I like how the stanzas are punctuated with lines of “supposedly” and “somehow I’m here”. It feels like those choices guided me through the memories and historical references and brought me back to current day for a moment, each time.
Thanks for sharing!
Bryan — The consistent evidence that you “somehow…got here”… that punctuates this reverie of life spinning though your poem is truly fun to read. Snippets run parallel with bits of my own journey. I always love those universals: the lawnmowers, the Lucky Strikes, KY humidity…oodles of stuff here. Evidence you are, indeed, here, “right now…supposedly.” I chuckled at the little joke…”frogs always in the mood”. Yup. Getting from and through the moments…I really enjoyed reading the bits that make you, you “right now.” Susie
Bryan, thank you for taking me on this journey on the way to “here.” So many scenes, places, things, allusions to familiar (and not so familiar) settings. I love the ending and the fact that you are here:
“I still dance to Blues Traveler,
still stand alive for this moment,
still look to the moon
for bringing its tides
to what it’s supposed to mean,
because somehow I’m still here
right now.”
Thank you for being you!
Bryan, love that you opted for how you got here! Brilliant, as aways. I appreciated the journey and your recollections of so many specific delights.
Hugs, my friend!
Fascinating approach, Bryan. Your dad seems familiar now, after having seen him with his Lucky Strikes in yesterday’s poem. Your vibrant array of images makes every line here feel like a poem in itself. The reworded refrain of how you supposedly got here somehow is incredibly effective – wry, but also laced with real wonder.
P.S. You are actually here and we are grateful you are, because you make us better with your every word. No supposedly.
Stacey – I never get tired of “Where I’m From” poems. Thank you for revisiting this. I’ve done a few “Where I’m From” poems over the years, and it’s so interesting how my perspective changes. Wondering if you have noticed that too.
Where I’m From
I’m from dark places –
a blanket-fort my sister and I made
holding flashlights under our chins
and squealing.
I’m from Captain Kangaroo and
I Love Lucy –
Television’s glittering light
making me learn and laugh.
I’m from pork chops with brown rice
and Vivian’s homemade lasagne.
I’m fromm Settle down
and Sit up straight,
dinners around an old maple table.
I’m from, Homework done?
and Brush your teeth!
Whispered prayers on a deep pink bed.
I’m from the Metropolitan Museum of Art,
Broadway, Lincoln Center, flashing taxis –
The big city just minutes away.
I’m from Friday night football,
hot fudge brownie delights,
Swim club, long bike rides.
I’m from 7-Up and sock parties,
Dancing all night and laughing,
Laughing, laughing –
Remembering small town pleasures.
Joanne. Oh, so grateful for your poem, to witness scenes of your life, especially the dinner table and echoes of parenting. I wonder if we are sisters–so much is familiar in that stanza. Love the use of italics.
I could relate to many of the things you wrote about in your poem. I grew up in a small town, but we did not have the excitement of a big city around. I need to revisit this prompt and write about my teen years after we moved away from family.
Oh, your memories brought back mine! So similar in your first two stanzas but I lived near LA that was farther away and missed the museums. I had the beach the brownies, sock parties, and long bike rides. Thanks.
Your entire first stanza was my childhood too!! I love this so much. I think I made so many tents under card tables around the house that my mom probably wondered why I had a bedroom.
Your poem is rich with visual images that dance before my eyes. I think we would’ve been great friends if we were in the same town.
Thank you, Joanne. Why do I want a brownie right now
.
So much joy and love in these lines, Joanne. The small town pleasures create such a nostalgic pull for simpler times – yet you had the best of both worlds, being so near the city with all its exciting wonders and energy. Your memories are so vibrant and rich – I sense a deep layer of gratitude in each of your descriptions.
Pork chops and brown rice sound so good….and lasagna is one of my absolute favorites. You have so much home here and so much to love with the long bike rides and 7 Up and small town flavor.
Joanne, I also noticed that every time I write Where I am From, it is somehow different. There are some differences in wording, tone, and the experiences highlighted. Your poem allows me to learn more about you. Everything here seems real and recognizable, from movies to family dinners, and places in NYC. The ending is the most enjoyable:
“Dancing all night and laughing,
Laughing, laughing –
Remembering small town pleasures.”
Thank you!
Stacey,
I love this mentor text. I’m running all day today but I can’t wait to return to this later.
Take your time and enjoy your Sunday. We’ve got all month to catch up.
Stacey, you and I could have been best friends. We have so much in common. Lite Bright and Crazy 8’s! I remember summers of long Monopoly games. Thanks for this invitation to write another I am From poem. I wrote one recently that I actually liked and posted on my blog. https://reflectionsontheteche.com/2025/03/14/slice-of-life-day-14-poetry-friday-i-am-from/
Today, I decided to take one of your alternative suggestions and go with I live.
New Iberia, Louisiana April 6, 2025
I live where heat and humidity full bloom around noon.
I live under a canopy of cypress trees
with knees that will full stop a mower’s blade.
I live near bayou brown
watching for wood ducks
coming round.
I live with spiders, roaches, mosquitoes, and gnats.
I’ve learned to let-them-be or smash-them-flat.
I live among neighbors who know me,
who offer mint leaves for tea.
I live in a red state with hearts of blue.
What about you?
Your second line verb phrases hold the power for me: “full stop”, “smash-them-flat”, and “offer mint leaves” and ending with an invitation. A lovely poem about where you live. I understand the humidity – lived in Slidell and Baton Rouge.
ooooh! Ending on a question is nice…it’s another invitation. “let-them-be or smash-them-flat” makes me giggle.
Margaret, I like this variation on the poem. It does feel so present and relevant situated in the now, of course. Clever line of “hearts of blue.”
Margaret! Yet another inspiration for how to repurpose Where I’m From. Place-based poems always bring me warmth. I appreciate the fun (and not so fun) things from your hometown.
You made me giggle and squirm:
In our next lifetime, let’s be childhood friends and play together.
I am loving that canopy of cypress trees, Margaret. They have ponderous knees, indeed. The wood ducks – I hope all is well with them this season. I can imagine a scene out by the bayou, you sipping that mint tea with your good neighbors…sounds heavenly.
I like the I live repeating line – – I smash them flat. And I’m all about some mint leaves in my tea…..AND I’m ready for an update on those ducks! Heat and Humidity full bloom – – I like how they verb there.
Blue shirt heartache
passed out, feeling numb,
trying to excel, thinking dumb,
praying for a million, got none,
Where I been, is not where I’m from.
I can sing a sad song,
about days long gone,
or my rights to wrong,
and type it on my phone.
But it ain’t me,
It ain’t me,
born red,
Meant free,
got to be, it’s got to be.
can someone release the pain,
Passed out in the rain,
On the tracks, waiting on a train,
destiny to gain….
All of the struggles are insane,
And,
I’m the one to blame.
but it ain’t me,
It ain’t me,
This ain’t where I’m supposed to be,
Red and free,
Stuck in my destiny.
Free me from the past,
Let me outlast,
Slow it down, too fast,
uncloth my fake mask.
‘Cause it ain’t me,
It ain’t me,
Wild and free,
Is my destiny.
two wrong turns and a box of nails,
Laying on tracks, unwell,
no story, no tale,
I passed to fast to fail.
but it ain’t me,
It ain’t me,
I’m not where I’m supposed to be,
save me from reality……
praying for a million, got none,
It’s me,
that’s where I’m from.
Boxer
Your poem reminds me we get to choose the things that make us who we are. I tend to embrace the good and bad but sometimes we have to say certain things will not define me. Thank you for sharing.
I love the rhyme, repetition, and rhythm of this poem. It is reminiscent of how my thoughts flow-rhythmic and repetitive. Thank you for sharing.
Boxer,
Wow, I read this as lyrics so I hope you can make the music from this heartache.
There’s so much to take in and wonder. I hope you get to that wild and free destiny.
Stacey, I too love reaching back and rewriting an I Am From poem. As I read your poem a flood of memories and a deep smile arrived as I read of you playing Pokeno! I never knew of anyone else that played that game. I recently found one for sale at a vintage shop and bought it to play with my grandkids!
I am from a four square home, surrounded by six sprawling acres of field and forest
Gardens with beans and corn and lettuce and cukes, fresh picked each day
Lightening storms on porches, while wondering if swinging on the steel swing was a safe choice
Sunday drives for ice cream,
never the soft serve kind for that didn’t count as real
Roasts on Sunday, right after Mass as we gathered around the table to break bread again
Handmade Halloween costumes sewn with pride, the kind that always won the silver dollar prize
Variety Shows, where this family of seven always sung a Sound of Music hit
Roger’s and Hammerstein’s Cinderella, watched with delight as it aired once a year
Shoes freshly polished, shiny and bright to proudly wear to Church
Home-cooked meals, never fast food, simple fare of chicken and pork chops and mashed potatoes
Traditions held true, binding us forever and creating bonds that are hard to break
I love how “real”, “home-cooked”, “simple”, “fresh picked” food is embedded in your poem. I think I wish I grew up in a place like that!
What a beautiful life’s story! Thank you, Christine. I felt transported to each moment in time. The traditions are what makes this poem extra special.
Christine, the traditions and love pour forth with every line. I savor the wholesomeness of the surrounding fields and forests, and the garden, and the Sunday drives. I, too, remember last-minute Halloween costumes that took a prize. The simple joys stay with us always, do they not.
Stacey, with every reading (and writing) of these poems, we get to know someone a little better! Just the word Lite-Brite pulls the ad and song and neon colors from the recesses of my mind. I used to waste hours with an etch-a-sketch! I love your last three lines most. Glad to know you!
I am from
the land of Oz
where Nancy, Bess, and George
followed yellow brick roads
to where the wild things are
where trolls lived under bridges
and ogres lived atop beanstalks
before following the second star to the right
I am from sitting right back and hearing a tale
of the sad sort of clanging from the clock on the wall
and whatever I touch starts to melt in my clutch
from a group that became a bunch
And mahna mahna do-do-de-do-do
from sunny days sweeping clouds away
Can you tell me how to get there again?
You pull details expertly, Jennifer. I love how you use language that represents key things, but isn’t very direct. It leads to some mystery unless the reader shared similar experiences, which I did! Why couldn’t I think of saying “sad sort of cleaning from the clock on the wall” instead of The Sound of Music? I’m in awe (mixed with envy) of you! And I think we come from similar places!
This line is so sensuous: “whatever I touch starts to melt in my clutch”. I love how you focused on books!
Mahna mahna do-do-de-do-do! Yes! Your poem of sounds and songs really struck a chord with me. I once had this as my ringtone! And oddly enough I too referenced the Sound of Music today! Love your creative verse
All those innocent days of reading. I loved Nancy Drew books. And then the question at the end, the longing to go back. We can’t, but we can instill a love of reading in our next generation which I am sure you do with your students.
Jennifer — It felt like I was daytrippin’ through your library…Oz and beanstalks…stars…clock on the wall. So well crafted! And the ending line is perfect…there’s joy here…joy in those stories and in the love of reading them…imagining. Beautiful! Hugs, Susie
Jennifer, you did it! You gave me another focal point today for changing up the Where I’m From. Books and more books!! I will save this for future renditions. Thanks for sharing it on FB also.
Enjoy your Sunday!
Jennifer, I treasure Every. Single. Allusion. The childhood stories, the shows-! The Brady Bunch! Sesame Street! The Muppets! My all-time favorite Christmas movie is The Muppet Christmas Carol. The version with young Scrooge and Belle’s song not cut out. And so I am utterly enthralled with your poem, so rich with childhood enchantments. In this moment you told me how to get there again
Hi Stacey, you are absolutely right about the enduring appeal of the “Where, I’m from poem”. They are like jigsaw pieces which when you put together you see a life. And what a life yours seem to have been! Your rich experiences seep from every line.
Where I’m From
by Krish
I am from the smoke
of a sweet scented candle
From Demerara sugar and sodium chloride (NaCl)
I am from the thick coat of soil on my old running shoes
Powdery, resilient, straining to cover more miles
I am from the two leaves and a bud from a tea bush
Dried slowly to blend perfectly with vanilla flavour
I’m from the crazy colours of Holi songs,
Loud as the frenetic beats of drums and cymbals
From the soft comfort of mama’s silk saree and papa’s gentle snoring
I’m from large family gatherings, Karaoke and heated political arguments
From spin-your-own-tale-and-be-the-hero-in-it, never swerve from steadfast faith
I’m from the opened windows of religious influences, basking in ancient wisdom.
I’m from the tanned skin of hardship embarking a ship in Calcutta to Mauritius.
From dhol puri and kheer (stuffed flatbread and sweet rice pudding)
Sneaking in the kitchen on a Diwali night to gorge on rasgulla.
I’m from the old bicycle my father rode, greeting everyone on the way.
I’m from the memories of poets woven in rhyming couplets
Beckoning me to create my own enduring legacy.
Thank you for deciding to share some of your poetry here Krish. I feel like this space could become more global in the future. Your poem is expansive. You are a true poet. Can’t wait to continue reading more. Glad to know you and your rich culture!
I love all the rich sensory details highlighting your roots “I’m from the opened windows of religious influences, basking in ancient wisdom.”
perfect!
Krishboodhram — Fascinating…I am imagining the colors and textures and lights…this is all so sensory…”powdery” and the smells of foods different from my own kitchen. Your legacy is definitely on its way…poem by poem. I love this community of writers! Susie
Thank you for once again making us partake in your experiences of life. Love how each line reveals something more about the little things that you appreciate in life.
Krish, I so appreciate when the opening of a poem makes me pause and savor the moment.
There’s so much to enjoy in your poem. I love the softness of mama’s saree and papa’s snoring. Love it all. I could copy/paste/highlight the whole poem.
Grateful you chose to share this gift today.
Stacey,
You are so correct . . .. this prompt can never be done enough. It inspires so much. Your version is ripe with familiar things; the way you use detail drives your poem to perfection. I spent time last night with a first cousin I’ve seen sparsely over the years, and I wanted to write about that missed opportunity for connection, but I went with writing about where our kids come from instead. I would love to have them write their own version. Maybe I’ll ask for them to do so for Mother’s Day.
Where They’re From
They’re from two school teachers
with simple interests and simple lives,
from days, nights, weekends
revolving around a game
spent in a gym or at a field or
on the court,
from Catholic elementary school and
Sunday morning mass.
They’re from Barney and Teletubbies
and Little Einsteins and Power Rangers,
iCarly and forbidden Spongebob
and Suite Life of Zach and Cody
and That’s So Raven.
From shared bedrooms
with a basement full of toys
and teenage babysitters
who let them do and see
way too much.
They’re from extended affluence
and bi-yearly vacations
to exotic locales
and birthdays and Christmases
filled with a glut of gifts.
They’re from back-to-school
shopping trips and Tuesday morning breakfasts
and no real connection or
modeling of life’s important things.
They’re from Goldendoodle central
with Legend and Rudy and Hutch
and now Mackey,
and a neighborhood full of
kids their same age.
They’re from a fishbow-ish small town
they all love
but
don’t come home to often enough,
and from walls and walls of pictures
that won’t let them forget
where they’re from.
~Susan Ahlbrand
6 April 2025
Susan, what a gift this would be for both your sparsely seen cousin and all of the kids. And we must be from the same places as my kids have had a childhood built of Suite Life and Little Einsteins too. You’ve crafted a perfect landing point in the walls of pictures that don’t let them forget where they’re from. Mine have scrapbooks upon scrapbooks of the same.
I’m loving how many directions people are taking this prompt. It is not just a “Where I’m From” poem. It can be many different things, as you’ve shown us. It was not me, but some of my cousins and many of my students were from many of these things as well. I’m now thinking about writing one about my niece and nephew.
This is full of so much love and fondness…I can tell that these are people special to you.
Susan, another creative approach to the familiar form. I enjoyed traveling in time with your kids. These lines capture the reality of so many siblings and I fear that today’s teens are seeing even more than we can imagine,
:
The ending is perfect. This is why I worry that photos are stored in devices with young parents nowadays. What will their children look at when they’re growing up?
Thank you, Susan.
I love this idea. What a neat thing to do as a parent and then ask them to write their own.
Susan, there’s an ache in my heart with those last lines about the kids not coming home often enough and the gallery of pictures as testimony of where they are from – and how much they are treasured. What a cool idea, to ask them to write their own poems for Mother’s Day! I would be thrilled with a gift like this, myself.
Susan, “a small town they all love but don’t come home to often enough” is a lovely section. It shows the difficulty of that, but you are there for them with reminders whenever they do come. Lovely twist on the prompt.
While this might be popular poetry, I’ve never written this style. I am excited to attempt this and play around with words and form. Thank you for sharing your poetry, I felt like you had so much packed into each line. You have the familial, ancestral, geographical, and physical presence. It’s beautiful and mesmerizing and brought forth my own images when I stumbled across certain lines (i.e., the bomb pops).
I’m from all the places I’ve ever been
and all the people I’ve ever met
Yet…
I begin and return to
1
0
4
Grover street
October 4
10/4
Over and out
I carry 104 in my heart
Lines inked in my skin.
I am from a
Neighborhood of
Roger and Rodney
Sherry and Larry
Terry and Sheri
Dick and Helen
35 year relationships and
100%
At
104
Until I branched out like the walnut trees
p e p p e r i n g
my childhood yard
and I started to come from every place
I’ve ever been and
everyone I’ve ever met
I am from Pete’s Tap and Hoffmann
nursing homes
kum&go
grassy hills
crosswords and coffee
silences
and shores
I’m from walnut trees and wondering.
Two sisters and “my bed”
Amber my dog best friend
And yet….
I am from and will be from more
Always coming back
To
1
0
4
My lighthouse
in life’s storms
So beautiful! We are FROM somewhere that is so very key to our being, but we go out and experience other places and bring those back with us. What an interesting relationship. I adore the image
Kindra, I love how you play with the numbers 1 0 4, changing their placement, their structure (October 4, 10/4) and the line “until I branched out like the walnut trees” with its action of peppering the lawn Sucha beautiful way of returning again and again to the place that grew you.
I resonate with these lines, I’ve even written about this idea in a poem about my identity:
i love how you play with space and textual devices. Excellent first Where I’m From!
I love, love how you used numbers in your poem. I’d like to do this. We always loved our childhood home address because it rhymed “375 Beechcrest Drive.” You then take us out and into the neighborhood of friends and dog companions and that “always coming back”. “My lighthouse in life’s storms” is a perfect ending line.
Hi Kindra, thank you for writing your first Where I’m From poem with us today. What I appreciate about this type of poem is that there’s no wrong way or right way. I, too, have numbers that I return to DAILY. 11-11 is my birthday and I see 11:11 on the clock daily. I see it everywhere so we have something in common.
Oh, how sweet and touching these lines are:
You nailed it, Kindra! This is a treasure to keep. Maybe you will find the joy in writing a new version in coming years.
Well done, Kindra! I love the power of patterns here, with 104 here as a street address and October 4th and being ok (“10/4”). Not to mention the repeated image of the walnut tree – a significant symbol. So inventive and visually fun,
Kindra, this was a lot of fun to read! Your final image of 104 as a lighthouse before your last lines (“My lighthouse / in life’s storms”) is great! Thank you for crafting and sharing this with us!
Kindra, what a successful first “Where I Am From” poem. I like how you use space, and when you place 104 vertically, it makes me slow down and perceive the significance of that place in your heart that truly makes it your “lighthouse,” your haven. Bravo!
Hi Stacey
It is true that doing these again and again brings new angles. I went in, all music.
Kevin
I am from whole notes,
a sound languishing
over time, melody
on the prowl for rhyme
I am from half-notes,
broken apart like seeds,
by a need to always
quicken the pace
I am from quarter notes,
articulation dots scratched
along the top, reminding me
to pause, breathe, stop
I am from eighth notes,
a hand over your shoulders,
a curved slur blurring us
together in a riff
I am from sixteenth notes,
in rapid succession; I disappear
into the air before you have
the chance to hear me
I am in awe every time I read one of your music inspired poems, Kevin. I know I’m missing out for never having learned anything about music or an instrument. I like the progression of smaller notes and the disappearing at the end.
Music is the fabric of your soul, and it always manifests in the most creative ways in your poems. Who but you would have thought to relate to the timing of notes? You surely have an anthology of collected music poems, ripe for the strumming of a symphony.
Kevin, the mimicking of the length of notes and the actions is so cleverly done. I especially like the half-note descriptions–I imagine those notes floating away like a spray of dandelion fluff–and the sixteenth notes disappearing into the air before being heard.
This poem leaves me wishing I knew more about each of the notes because I can tell you completely NAIL each kind with specific traits you share with them. You know music and you know yourself . . . two pretty cool things to be well-versed in.
Hooray for “all music.” I think of music when I see your name. Whole notes to sixteenth…now that is a cool organizational pattern. This poem is a keeper just for that. But also for quicken, scratched, riff,” Wonderful portrait.
I love this connection to music and how each note has its own metaphor. My favorite is the half note “broken apart like seeds.”
Kevin, yessss! I don’t know if you’ve ever read the poem by Ntozake Shange “I Live In” but she writes about living in poetry. I teach this poem structure to help students find their ONE LOVE that they live in. Sometimes my music lovers write about living in song, living in drums, etc. It always works. Your Where I’m From is a new model for me to use alongside the I Live In poem.
Beautiful piece! Thank you, Kevin.
Every stanza is phenomenal but this one stands out to me, especially:
I am from eighth notes,
a hand over your shoulders,
a curved slur blurring us
together in a riff
-Just stunning.
Stacey, I do not get tired of these poems. The details in your poem above are lush…light-brite to Kings and Queens to Gloria and Patsy Ann. It’s such a great portrait of roots and wings. I decided to take a different section of my life than childhood. I focused on the days of my first home with my husband. Here’s a snippet.
I’m from learning how to walk to the subway–
climbing up the hill and through the break in the chain link fence
I’m from learning how to take the orange line under the river
I’m from learning now to make the monument my north star
Your snippet gives me the idea to write one based on what I’ve learned from each home I’ve lived! I loved reading about what you learned.
Linda, I am loving the way the monument and the north star can be so symbolic of so many things. I like that the poem ended on that line because it gets me thinking about values and focus far beyond the geography of place.
I love how much is implied in the small snippet. Learning to be from somewhere you are not. I’ve always joked if I had to learn to navigate subways or metros on my own, I probably wouldn’t make it. The feeling that sticks with me most is the ability and willingness to keep learning.
Linda, learning to navigate first homes and early marriage is a bit like learning how to navigate childhood–these firsts are about finding your way and ‘becoming’ with others. I love the image of the monument as your north star. I can see you searching for it to ground you.
I didn’t go back to childhood, either. Your snippet is full of imagery, from the chain link fence to the north star. I hope you will share more of this with Inklings.
Oh Linda – I like this idea. I have written many a “Where I’m from” poems from the childhood perspective. Never tried an adult perspective – now I will! Thank you!
Linda, yessss!! Like I said to another friend here, I love the focal point of something to drive the poem. I will certainly keep that on my list of strategies for Where I’m From options.
Make the monument your North Star! Love that so much. We should all find something leading us in the right direction and name it as our North Star.
You nailed this in 4 lines!!
Linda, I loved how you used direction to guide us through this. I loved your last line — reminded me of all the “north stars” I’ve had in my life, welcoming me and leading me beloved places!
Getting one’s bearings in a new place is essential – especially in a whole new chapter of life. That break in the chain link fence feels so symbolic to me, somehow.
Stacey, thank you so much for hosting us today! I LOVE the idea you share of a where I’m not from poem. I feel like that more and more these days as I look around. I love that you are from the Johnsons – – maybe we are on the same family tree! And this may be my favorite: I’m from wishing on a star to praying on bended knees. That’s just beautiful – as always!
I’m Not From Here
I’m not from here.
I’m not from this chaos.
I won’t play these games.
I won’t clean up the mess.
I won’t sit at the table.
I won’t partake of the feast.
I won’t bow for a fake prayer (I know the difference)~
I won’t smile and pretend.
I won’t take the bait.
I’m not from this chaos.
I’m not from here.
I agree with you about feeling like you’re NOT from a place more and more these days, Kim. The bookend is fitting and I love the thought in the parenthesis.
Oh Gosh — what an approach. (but it makes me sad to live in a time when this is how we might need to write these kinds of poems).
Kevin
Love, love, love this, Kim! I am ‘notting’ right there with you. Your poem builds in intensity, even as the lines build (in length and strength) and then winds down into the repeated exiting lines, almost like making your presence known, saying your piece (or peace), and then stepping away from it all. This is all so pointed without being obvious. Well, well done, my friend!
Kim,
Oooooo . . . being NOT from somewhere is my next poem I am going to write RIGHT NOW. When we are somewhere surrounded by things we are in disbelief we have to deal with . . .
Oh, Kim, this is how I feel. I want to shout it out! I’m not from this chaos!
I loved how you flipped this prompt, Kim. It is so powerful. I can see all those scenes so clearly. I’m going to try this with my own family – There’s a lot of “won’ts” in my childhood!
Kim, my friend, this is powerful! For some reason, I see the image that’s been circulating on socials with Black women sitting on a rooftop watching everything around them and below burn. Your poem is one to keep on a mirror and read everyday.
Those lines resonated with me because sometimes that’s what I see at work. I can’t do it. We need to be real and be honest.
Thank you, Kim, for another treasure.
Kim, I absolutely loved your take on this. Your tone was everything.
Kim, I think this could be a poem applicable several situations…I have never tried a “not from here” poem and am thinking maybe I should. I note the repetition of “I’m not from this chaos” and the line that strikes me most – believe it or not – is “I won’t take the bait.” It’s a setup for a downfall, whether it be a family or workplace dynamic, or…more.
Kim, your poem shows all you resist. I especially appreciate your lines:
“I won’t bow for a fake prayer (I know the difference)~
I won’t smile and pretend.
I won’t take the bait.
Each of these lines illustrate you’re a powerful individual who knows themself and what they value. Truly amazing poem full of your wonderful spirit!
You nailed this one, Kim! “I am not from here” is what many want to say. It feels like we all need to wake up, and the nightmare will be over.
Thank you for saying it out loud here!
Hi, Stacey! No – the “Where I’m From” poetry exercise never gets old or dull! In fact – it sharpens us. There’s at least a million ways, maybe infinite ways, of capturing where we are from. I am also from many things you mention: Lite-Brite, Etch-a-Sketch, Monopoly and 10-speeds – oh how I remember it all! My granddaughters love to play Monopoly with me now (the three-year-old just likes the tokens, dice, and the money, ha). I also love your juxtaposition of these childhood pastimes with being from “forgotten kings and queens of Africa.” I lingered long on that line, envisioning…perceiving…yes, there’s empowerment leaking from your bones, and the children and all of us here are your beneficiaries. i am always grateful for you and your words.
Today the prompt took me in this unexpected direction…
From the Shadows
I am from the shadows
of wartime
—from a 1918 row house apartment
with knotty-pine walls
I spy you with my wooden eyes, little girl
and the high, open window
between living room and bedroom
a strange portal
but not the strangest
—from a little white rental house
that was an army hospital morgue
twenty years before my time
maybe it was cheaper to live
in a house of death
—from letters and black-and-white photographs
mailed to my uncle in Vietnam
so he could see
how much I was growing
he would bring the photos home
when his tours of duty
were over
—from fallout shelters
marked by yellow and black signs
In the event of nuclear attack
we live so close to D.C., we’d be one of
the first places bombed, said my mother
and her neighbor-friends, while taking
long drags of their Salems and sipping their
instant black coffee
—from a neighborhood
where many fathers
were enlisted
where many
were alcoholics
(the moms too)
where my friends would
come and go
come and go
come and go
like the ditch rat
in my closet
until Daddy finally trapped
and killed it
I didn’t even know
how it scratched on my
bedroom door at night
to be let out
—yes, I am from
the shadows of wartime
man versus man
man versus beast
it is no wonder
in the least
that I would always be
seeking light
and sanctuary.
Wow, the strange portal really sets this poem in motion, ending in sanctuary.
Kevin
Fran, this is an incredible poem. I’m glad to get to read some of the places you’ve lived. I’m honored to read about things before and during your lifetime. When you mentioned your uncle in Vietnam, it made me think of The Women novel I just read and I only ever read positive reviews of it, so I gave it a shot. I hated it. Then I found out that there are many people who felt the same as me. I think it did a disservice to people who were in Vietnam and the whole era. This poem is better than that novel. Sorry if anyone loved it!
Fran, this is hauntingly beautiful – the trapping and killing of the rat is symbolic with the house of death. Like killing the ditch rat meant escape to the sanctuary and light. I just love your ways of weaving beauty in here, even in the shadows.
Fran, so many images reach out and grab me–the wartime shadows, the fallout shelter signs (I remember these!), the hospital morgue house (love those two following lines). I want to know more about the I spy with my wooden eye. We used to say I spy with my little eye–is this the same game? There’s just the hint of ominous underlying the entire poem that creates such wonderful tension.
I struggled with that line, Jennifer – it’s a reference to the knotty-pine walls in the preceding verse. The knots in the beautiful paneling looked like many eyes looking at my preschool self.
How incredibly rich…what a look into a life. That “maybe it was cheaper/to live in a house of death” got me. Yikes…but wow, too.
Fran, those shadows are so poignant in your recollection. How the apartments themselves reflected the hardness of the time. Continue to seek the light!
Fran – as always your images are sharp, clear, and memorable: fallout shelter signs,ditch rat, women smoking Salems – so powerful. You capture that time you (and I ) lived in so well. New Jersey and North Carolina – not so different. I love your last 3 stanzas:
Oh, Fran, I’m intrigued from the beginning. We share a memory here:
Your focal point is brilliant. I will save this strategy when I write a new Where I’m From. Wartime memories work and your voice speaks to me like you are sitting next to me right now.
Suddenly, I felt compassion for the ditch rat!
Brilliant, Fran. Thank you.
Fran,
Wow, wow, wow. The images that you shared in this will be hard to forget! Amazing poem.
Fran, this is so filled with images and emotion. The last lines explain so much of what I’ve know of you through the years in writing community.. These words say so much “I would always be seeking light and sanctuary.”
Fran, wow! Your poem is filled with incredible insights! The way you shape the connections of shadow and light is brilliant. I can visualize the mothers smoking their Salems, the sound of the ditch rat…yikes, and the ever present fear of war. I never moved as a child so I can’t imagine what a military life would be like but I imagine it was difficult to lose friends and make new ones. Your closing lines are poignant but show your strength and spirit well.
Hi Stacey! I don’t think I’m one who gets tired of this poem. I love the part in yours when you start talking about poets and activism, breaking outside the bounds of the “template”. I also love how we get to know many things about each other. Thank you for giving me an opportunity to look back at the same one I’ve been using for almost 10 years now and rewrite some parts. It’s necessary.
Where I’m From (2025)
I’m from anything and everything blue
From too many college ruled Five Star notebooks, desktop computers, dial up internet, my first MacBook, and a time when chatgpt didn’t exist
I’m from the bedroom I shared with my grandma for six years, two white twin beds formed a bond not many share
From the honeysuckle bush down the alley in Carrollton and the orange tree in our yard in Glendale.
I’m from huge Thanksgiving meals, football fanatics, and four eyes
From Dionisio (in ways I never knew) and Tom & Terry (in ways I do)
I’m from one half silliness and the other half serious
From all forms of encouragement and “I’m proud of you, Mija”
I’m from the rare excitement of Midnight Mass, but never feeling a real connection
I’m from the Lone Star State, the Grand Canyon State, the Golden State, Sportsman’s Paradise, Bangladesh, Kuwait, Mauritius, and Trinidad.
From really all the food in the world but especially pho, sushi, rare steak, American pepperoni pizza, birria tacos, and menudo
From the nights spent sitting on my parents’ bed refusing to speak and not being able to speak when my brother called me the other day asking why we haven’t talked in more than a year.
From photo albums living in many different boxes, basements, attics, iPhones
Reminders that we were once a family even though it doesn’t feel like we are anymore.
Whoa, Angie. I have so many feelings in response. I fear I could write a book to explain, especially in regard to tight familial bonds with a grandmother and estrangement from other family members. That last line hits home with me…even as I savor the scents of honeysuckle and orange, and the exotic atmospheres of each place you mention. And oh, the food! I’ve had breakfast and here you are making me hungry again! But I think that is what poetry does. Makes us hungry for more.
from “a time when chatgpt did not exist” now seems long ago, doesn’t it?
Kevin
Oh, my goodness…the details are so fun and lovely. My heart squeezed at the call from a brother. What a great list poem!
Angie, I’m hanging on every line here. Not just one line – every line. You make your readers feel seen and heard in the speechless phone call…..most of us could get that phone call from someone in our family and whether we answer or what we would say will vary. The scattered photo albums and the traveling you have done in places lived gives your footprint a presence of knowing and living, and that is a thing to celebrate. I love getting to know everyone better this month!
Hi Angie, Thank you for sharing your passion for poetry with me and for introducing me to Ethical ELA. There are so many layers of you to unravel from this poem, your passions, your likes and the strong bonds you formed with your significant others.
Angie, I see how this form takes you back and helps us see all about you, where we find all about us, too. My heart aches about your sibling, though. With the aging and Alzheimer’s of my mother, I don’t know what I’d do without my brother. Thanks for trusting us with your whole heart and being vulnerable. Isn’t it amazing how poetry does that?
Angie – your poem covers the range of emotions from joy to sadness. Recently, my mother-in-law and my dad died – so there are holes in both sides of my family. Nothing remains the same, but your spirit – what you’ve taken in and grown from – remains the same.
Hi Angie,
Dial-up internet!!!! I can hear that sound so clearly as I’d wait for a connection. I love how you’ve revised a previous version. I find that to be the best way for me to move into new Where I’m From poems. They tell a story of the past, present, and more.
I can imagine that when you revise this poem in the next years, this may be a shout of victory. Thank you, Angie.
Angie, these three lines slayed me:
“I’m from the bedroom I shared with my grandma for six years, two white twin beds formed a bond not many share” (too sweet!!)
and
“From the nights spent sitting on my parents’ bed refusing to speak and not being able to speak when my brother called me the other day asking why we haven’t talked in more than a year.” (relatable!!)
“From photo albums living in many different boxes, basements, attics, iPhones
Reminders that we were once a family even though it doesn’t feel like we are anymore.” (again, so relatable!!)
Loved, loved this poem!
Angie, I am so grateful for your poem today. It tells me so much about you, and strikes some familiar chords. Your relationship with a grandmother make me envious. I never knew my grandparents. I am amazed at the places you’ve lived in this country and abroad. The final lines made me think that in most families I know there are some tensions. Thank you for sharing!
Any,
These lines about your grandmother are touching:
”I’m from the bedroom I shared with my grandma for six years, two white twin beds formed a bond not many share”
They make me think about all that’s lost in living in big houses. I love that we’re on the same page (of a five-subject notebook, of course) w/ ChatGPT.