Our identity as writers is a constant revolving door. It changes each day from our own experiences, from the people we meet, or from the changing world that we observe through a looking glass. What we see, hear, or smell is all put down on paper. As a practicing writer myself, I wanted to try to capture the roots of my identity by deciding to write a "Where I am From" Poem.
Where I am From
I am from old picture frames,
From Kodak disposable cameras and CVS printed photos.
I am from front porch wind-chimes
(That sound like a divine melody).
I am from freshly laid pine needles,
the petunias.
Whose colors I remember to be vibrate and breath-taking
during the months of April and May.
I am from visiting Christmas Tree farms in December and blue eyes.
From Rose and Kathleen
And Stephen.
I am from the hand-talkers,
and the know-it-alls.
From "I love you's"
and "Gerry get out of my kitchen"
I am from white communion dresses
and Moravian Lovefeasts.
I'm from the Anderson's and Mulcahy's Branch,
Welsh cakes and Sweet Potato Casseroles.
From the hearing my Uncle lost
in the The Cold War,
the grandfather
was raised by his two aunts.
On my childhood bedroom door,
are where the marks of my youth remain,
labeled by the years that have gone by too quickly,
like the changing of the leaves in Autumn.
I am from those memories frozen in time --
recorded and passed down
but never forgotten.
References:
Krouse Rosenthal, A. (2016). Textbook. Penguin Random House: New York, NY. (p.1 - 105)
Woodson, J. (2014). Brown Girl Dreaming. Penguin Random House: New York, NY. (p.1-42).