A few weeks ago, I wrote a post about a poem by George Ella Lyon and then wrote my own, non-poetic version. I have gone back over it many times and made revisions along the way. I *think* it is now complete (although I'm sure I'll never be completely happy with it).
Where I'm From
I’m from an old metal jungle-gym
not cemented to the ground.
We tumbled it over and over as we played on it.
I’m from long car rides with 4 children sitting
across the back seat and “Are we there yet?”
I’m from more car rides,
this time in a station wagon…
facing backward in the pop-up seats
trying my best not to throw-up along the way.
I’m from the dogwood tree in the front yard under
whose branches my dreams took flight.
I’m from snow days and snow packed ramps—
we slid down the yard, off the ramp, and into
I’m from kickball games that always had to be
turned around mid-game
so we would not break the neighbor’s light.
I’m from summer nights
running around the neighborhood playing
tag and catching lightning bugs.
I’m from 15+ kids in the kitchen with my dad…
and the oven catching on fire…twice.
I’m from Christmas morning at the neighbor’s…
everyone was there.
I'm from illegal fireworks all the way from Texas...
a huge cloud of smoke above the cul-de-sac.
I'm from baseball fields and football fields and
from cheerleading practice.
I'm from the "six-o'clock whistle"
the siren from the firehouse
that could be heard throughout the town.
From the smiles and laughter of my children
rise these memories
Haunting me in the most delicious manner…
begging to be shared and part of their lives as well.