I am from photographs and leather bound books
From dark and faded faces and all their jewelry that doesn’t latch
I am from the deserted Dakota plains from homesteads, and the bustling dirty streets of London.
I am from the wheat stalk and the wind beaten heather, a fair garden rose
Whose manicured limbs, mildly threatening thorns exposed,
I know as if they were my own.
I’m from infectious laughter and reading bed-time stories
I’m from Julie, Sheila, Charlotte and Hettie
I’m from daydreaming and discontent
And all of us are from blissful kisses from the wind on naked cheeks.
I’m from “I’ve had it with you” and “I don’t want you to go”
And you can sleep when you’re dead.
I’m from Eugene and England, Minnesota and South Dakota.
I'm from goulash and sweet corn to lefse and zucchini bread.
I'm from Charlotte’s five marriages, her uproarious temper,
That picture of my young Salsa, or those brass elephant earrings
Held in the trunk that screeches when I open it, and the smell of
Musky ancestry and home comes pouring out.
-copy changed from the National Hispanic Cultural Center poem "I am from"
I particularly liked the imagery (including smells) in these sections:
ReplyDeleteI am from the wheat stalk and the wind beaten heather, a fair garden rose
Whose manicured limbs, mildly threatening thorns exposed,
Held in the trunk that screeches when I open it, and the smell of
Musky ancestry and home comes pouring out.