|Where I'm From Poetry
The Basement by Morgan P. ('09)
I?m from the praying mantis in the pecan tree,
from the Korean Bellflowers taking over our yard,
from the blueberry patch behind Sunset Park.
I am from the wooden divider between two driveways,
(I thought it was a balance beam.)
I?m from the swings in the playground,
from coming home crying,
and just being told ?No blood, no foul?.
I?m from getting my legs stuck in snow,
from building a ten foot high snowman
and using black spray paint to decorate it.
I?m from? You can?t say it?s bad before you try it.?
and from ?You?ll eat almost anything!?
I?m from carrot cake and cubed steak.
I am from inside the closet and under the bed.
I?m from the big comfy chairs in the back at the library,
from seeing the librarians on a daily basis.
I am from Garth Brooks? concerts and cowgirl boots.
I?m from sneaking candy off a gingerbread house from upstairs,
and from practically living in the swimming pool.
I?m from my best friend Deirdre making me open my eyes underwater
(even though she knew it scared me)
and from being grateful for it later.
I am from climbing onto her roof just outside her window,
(even though our mothers told us not to.)
I am from staying up late with Deirdre,
Watching Monty Python in her basement with her older brother,
As he sneaks us Rice Crispie Treats and Fig Newtons from upstairs,
Saying the words we knew by heart, together, for one last time.
Where Im From
by Lisa E. ('05)
The Definition of Me by Megan D. ('09)
I’m from the biggest city of the Last Frontier,
But I’m still a small town girl
From crunching across snow fields we thought were frozen,
and falling head over heels for snowboarding
I’m from the boxes that fill up what once was my home
The smell of paper while rediscovering treasures,
gone too long.
The tiredness from packing again,
And reward of a cool vanilla cone from the corner DQ,
But still not being able to lie down on your packed-away bed.
The "I'll miss you" and "I promise to write"
The sad feeling of not being able to go home,
but feeling that you’re there with a whiff a fresh brewed coffee.
From always opening a new front door,
But seeing the same warm smile inside
…getting the smaller room,
no matter how hard I try.
From my first love,
Our fluffy Golden Retriever, Connor.
The heartache of leaving him for the first time.
And my cousin who bears the same name
We had the dog first
I’m from many homes and people
Where Im From
each with a special hold on my heart.
By Alicia G.
Im from a green house that my grandmother use to live in, in Mexico
From where my knees were always skinned
Im from mango trees behind my house
From seeing my brother getting bit by our neighbors dog
From being poor
Im from a broken down roof
From a lady giving us free food, but my mom would find ways to pay her back
Im from an uncle who would always come home drunk with no money to feed us
From taking cold showers and heating the water on a gas stove
Im from the stairs that scratched my face, arms and legs when I fell
From the tile floors that were always cold
Im from learning to ride my bike for the first time on gravel
Im from a mother who did anything to have food on the table
From a sister who would always rebel
Im from a stove that rat was hiding behind and my brother and I would try to catch it.
From watching my mother wash clothes by hand in a concrete sink outside and then hanging them up on a rope out side.
Im from having birthday parties and having everyone come that we knew
From being grateful for what you have that is what my mother use to say in Spanish to all of us
Im from those moments
In Vera Cruz, Mexico a country that offers so little to their people
Where I'm From excerpts from poems
I'm from the noises of draining tap water
Whose path rounds in circles like ghost through your hair
From three cereal boxes in use at one time
Where the crazy neighbor girl with fire red hair yelled my name through the fence and from my blind cat Cassie walking into walls occasionally
from the bully on the bus who wanted me to bring him 20 dollars and my Ninja Turtle toys
my dad talked to him in person
I am from the trains under the Christmas tree
I am from wrenches and sockets, to spatulas and silver wear
I am from legalistic hippies
I am from meatloaf surprise to banister races,
I am from streets known not by name,
But by the friends who lived there.
I am from SLUGS, mushrooms, Oshkosh, finger paint and curly hair.
I am from Strawberry Shortcake and broken legs
From feeling cuts and scrapes on my arms and legs that I never minded having.
I'm from that big glass coffee table that got moved so much that we decided to put it out in the garage. from grandparents I've lost to old age,
and the only survivng one holding on by his endless knowledge
Getting to the sink with the help of a stool
Riding my bike, broken pedal to broken foot
Surfing boards like bananas floating by rain-setted air
But I belong to these memories
I'm from riding my bike to school without asking.
I'm from sounds of my parents fighting,
and from worrying of what is going to happen next
From forts made of blankets.
(that were never worth the clean up)
Always more complicated, and yet still never finished.
I am from homemaded pizza and cookies from Play Dough,
Getting out of bed, standing in the door way as I watched the fish tank dance.
I'm from the fireworks, always with high hopes to ignite the fuse.
I'm from the forts, a place of privacy, shielding me from much more than the rain at times.
I am from a hole in the wall, which brought Pain and turmoil between father and son.
From dad's half empty bottle that Makes mom so unhappy.
I am from those moments- A flower trying to bloom
But only surrounded by shade
The empty space was so big, as such a little girl only two feet tall.
Drifting into a different land.
I'm a princess with my own unicorn.
Dancing around to Mickey Mousersize
I am from blue carpets that are stained with the memory of friends, siblings and parents.
And beating up girls i just so happened to like
I'm from Christmas eve traditions and lighting the menorah 8 days a year.
I'm from tap-dancing in the garage as the rain pours down outside,
From a front yard with a special handmade path with the handprints of the children
I am from a family with many hardships and less grace
I'm from a house that never sleeps.
The cow always jumped the fence no matter how high it was.
From mud paintings on the side walk, And green crayon on the wall.
Being away from mom and dad for ten hours a day was torture
Living with divorce was part of my life Iwanted to forget
Sometimes walking up with dad not there
I am from the house that went to Hawai’i
The sea water washing over my body while surfing
Where memories are stored in huge file cabinets.
I'm from a mommy all alone.
I am from a sister of half blood,
from a mothers position in a sisters body.
I'm from fresh oatmeal with surgar, butter, and milk.
I am from two fathers worlds apart
I'm from hot summers in my small organized room
From riding bikes to playing with slugs
From marshmellow in my hair,
to my mom singing me to asleep.
At night going to sleep meant listening to the freeway all night instead of music.
I'm from when my dad got home from work I had to get out of his comfy green chair.
I am from those moments
a branch that everyone climbs all over
Broken arm car ride to the hospital
Gross smells, casts
I'm a small town girl From the big sky state.
A dog that always fell down the stairs.
I am from the world only seen through the television and a controller.
I'm from sweet potatoes and toothpaste.
From the pirate ship that was just a pile of wood. secret forts that are now gone.
I am from blueberries rising & childhood falling
And the smell of lavander and mint after the rain.
From the hidden embarassment from being the last to be picked up, again and the smell of happiness,
the smell of mom.
From stories read nightly and the triumph of reading a book by myself.
I am from the tree swing at the bus stop, And all our backpacks neatly waiting in line.
I'm from Lego city, where Lego me lived.
I'm from spiders in the shower and clogged drains.
I am from the 88 Plymoth Voyager with the broken air conditioning
From the crying of Jon Howard as he gets beaten up by his little sister
from Grandpa Roy and his Shake-n-bake Chicken
I'm from chances I should have taken, and roads I'm glad I lost
From the table in the basement that was our shelter from the tornado
To the banisters that jiggled from us sliding down it too much
Getting a bloody nose in my turquoise kitty nightgown on the old shaggy brown couch right before bed
I'm from the squishy orange chair, which smelled like dead flowers and peppermint.
I'm from burning bugs on the backyard deck
From the boy down the street that called me Frosty, because my cheeks where so pink from the cold
From bugs and drugs laying anywhere
I am from the good days when it was just us four girls.
I'm from the old smelly attic to the radio static
I am from Barbie's dream house, where Ken occasionally spent the night.
I'm from the parties, the barbeques, and the ruined-by-a-dog shoes.
To cutting my finger cutting my first mango
A place you were always welcome, unless you weren't.br> Adam M.
I am from neighbors with everlasting garage sales
I am from a pond frozen people ice skating all over me.
The streets with the house with the biggest basement
I'm from going to grandmass and always eating Top Ramen and skinned apples in the dining room with the old fuzzy wall paper
From tar, soap, and painful baths.