Where I'm From

I posted a few weeks ago that I met George Ella Lyon.  She is an outstanding poet, writer, peace activist and singer.  I am sure that she has done many other things.  I had dinner with her so I know that she is also a wonderful conversationalist.  Years ago George Ella wrote a poem which has become quite well known called "Where I'm From".  I'll reprint it here because it's just so darned good...

I am from clothespins,

from Clorox and carbon-tetrachloride.

I am from the dirt under the back porch.

(Black and glistening,

it tasted like beets.)

I am from the forsythia bush

the Dutch Elm

whose long-gone limbs I remember

as if they were my own.

I'm from fudge and eyeglasses,

from Imogene and Alafair.

I'm from the know-it-alls

and the pass-it-ons

from Perk up! and Pipe down!

I'm from He restoreth my soul

with a cottonball lamb

and ten verses I can say myself.

I'm from Artemus and Billie's branch,

fried corn and strong coffee.

From the finger my grandfather lost 

to the auger,

the eye my father shut to keep his sight.

Under my bed was 

a dress box

spilling old pictures,

a sift of lost faces

to drift beneath my dreams.

I am from those moments --

snapped before I budded --

leaf-fall from the family tree.

Since meeting George Ella and hearing her amazing stories I have written a few "Where I'm From" poems.  Many, many people have done this as well.  Some of her most powerful stories are simply the personal responses people have written to "Where I'm From".  So, here is one of mine.  It's personal.  If you don't know anything about me, it may not make too much sense.  It was fun to write and I intend on writing many more.  I think George Ella would like that.

I'm  from Ruck and Jack

and six brothers and sisters.

I am from teasing and laughing and never 

looking for a playmate.

I am from hot sand

on summertime barefeet

and glistening Lake Michigan waves.

I'm from sun bleached hair

and my little brother's smattering of 

 freckles.

From hand-me-downs and 

big pots of food.

I am from Catholic School and 

altar boys and six-day-a-week Mass.

I am from hymns and prayers said by heart.

I am from books passed lovingly into my hands

like treasure chests filled with gold.

I'm from groovy and cool and far out, man.

I'm from tie-dye shirts and big old bell bottom pants.

I'm from wooden music 

played on steel strings

with calloused finger tips.

I am from campfire nights and 

smoke-in-my-eyes.

From starshine and treefrogs and minnows

at the water's edge. 

I am from the music of owls and mourning doves,

from the tapping of woodpeckers and 

the barking of squirrels.

I'm from the wind whipped whistling of too tall pines 

and the crackle rustle of sweetgum leaves.

I am from Heidi with

long straight hair and 

sparkling emerald eyes

and a beautiful freckled smile.

I am from boys grown to men

and a room full of best friends

year after year after year.

Thanks, George Ella.