Where I'm From

This poem was written by a young lady I've known for a long time. She is teaching school and wrote a poem to inspire her students to write their own 'Where I'm From' poem. I asked her if I could put it in my blog and she said yes. Her name is Clarissa B.


Where I’m From



I’m from honeysuckle and
minty meadow tea.
I’m from sneaking barefoot
past the cows
to ride on the "bouncing tree."

I’m from flip-flop races under the bridge and
building "secret hideouts" in the brush.
I’m from tree climbing,
knee scraping,
squeezing into the toy dump truck to hurl
down
the
hill.

I’m from homemade, Pennsylvania Dutch goodness:
sticky buns, brown butter noodles, and
fresh milkshakes from hand-picked berries
(and unhealthy amounts of 10X sugar).
I’m from pancakes or French toast every Saturday morning,
made with love
from scratch and in the iron skillet.

I’m from the arm Grandpa Glenn lost to a tractor,
the poems Grandpa Henry pens,
Grandma Martha’s brushstrokes of oil on canvas,
and the plastic plates Grandma Mary recycles
for the family get-togethers
(waste not, want not).

I’m from high soprano in hymns
-high tenor when singing in five parts.
I'm from Sunday afternoon naps
and Sunday evening games with pretzels and ice cream.

I’m from the golden rules of honesty
(be sure your sins will find you out)
and hard work
(idle hands are the devil’s playground).
Where I’m from, the milk is "all",
the roads are "blutzy", and
"If you have nothing good to say,
then it’s better to say nothing at all."