Where I’m From

I am from clothespins,
from Clorox and carbon-tetrachloride.

I am from the dirt under the back porch. (Black, 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 am 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 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.

TRY THIS

• Write out all this poem brings to mind for you starting with the line “I am from,” listing all the places, the people, the common expressions, the foods, and all the things unique to you.

TRY THIS

• Think of the sights, sounds, smells, touches, and tastes that are all part of your childhood, from your earliest memories to today, and describe as many as you can.

TRY THIS

• Borrow any line, letting the line lead your thinking and writing.