"Where I'm From"-- A Poem About Home
George Ella Lyon, a writer and teacher, wrote a poem about where he's from after he found himself making lists of daily objects, brands, family names and places that reminded him of home. He created it as a way for people to write their own versions, and uses the format with his students. I had to write one for a class in my master's program about Third Culture Kids-- thank you Dr. Leigh Martin (@Leighoverseas) for this wonderful exercise! . I recorded it and sent it to my family. Here it is below, both written and recorded:
I am from wooden spoons,
from Crisco, Bisquick and Tollhouse chocolate chips,
semi-sweet.
I am from pin-cushions and homemade gowns,
a mother’s love,
backless gold and stunning.
I am from the mulberry tree out back,
the St. Augustine out front,
a father’s pride,
dense and carefully edged, I remember
its cool touch under bare feet on a summer’s day.
I’m from road maps.
I’m from the World Book Encyclopedia (1973) and the Kelly Blue Book,
from long, wandering conversations and 100 questions,
from Gilbert and Margaret,
Rusty, Preston, Susan, Joanie, Andy and all the rest.
I’m from enthusiastic, off-pitch birthday songs,
from frustrated Rangers fans,
the Dumb-so-and-sos!
and the That batter couldn’t hit me!
I’m from 5 Hail Marys and 5 Our Fathers
for the I missed church to go to the lake,
and the I called my brother an idiot.
I’m from the faded love of West Texas sunsets
and the possibilities of its starry skies.
I’m from dry grass crunching under my boots as I trail along,
and lonesome doves on a wire.
I’m from radio dials,
from honeyed drawls (and not-so-honeyed),
from Waltz Across Texas and Daddy’s Little Girl,
from Lyle Lovett and the legacy of dance halls.
I’m from a stiff clutch and a stickshift
and five hours at the wheel at 13 when Dad got sick.
I’m from man-made lakes and water skis,
Pecan Sandies and Diet Coke,
from the fishing pole Jenn flung in the lake,
lost to The Gar.
I’m from ski-water like glass at sunrise,
window-unit air conditioners in the heat of the day,
a circle of chairs, favorite books and good company by the porchlight.
I’m from guitars and singing Wagon Wheel as best we can.
I’m from storytelling.
On Mom’s mirror, fragments of scotch tape
prop up captured moments old and new,
yearbook photos with awkward smiles and unfortunate hair,
a collection of generations.
The legacy of her life,
and mine
and theirs
and all the rest.
