Where are you from?

I wrote last week about how much I enjoy hearing people’s love
stories
.
Another thing I enjoy is Where I’m From poetry that people send me.
I discovered the Where I’m From project shortly after I began blogging
back in
2003.
At the site Fragments From Floyd,
Fred First wrote a post singing the praises of Appalachian poet George Ella
Lyons and her poem Where
I’m From
.
The poem is a beautiful reflection
on the experiences and memories that shape us all. Fred borrowed an idea from
somewhere and offered
up a template
to help poets and non-poets alike create
similar poems specific to their own lives. Though I’m not a poet by any means,
the project
appealed
to
me enough to write my own poem. Ever since then, several readers have sent
me their
own
Where I’m From poems, and every one is a masterpiece in its own right.
I have posted them all under the where
we’re from
link in the right-hand sidebar.

I recently received another poem, and I felt it was the perfect opportunity
to draw attention to this project. I also think this is a great tool to stimulate
conversation between spouses. If you write a poem about where you’re from,
send it to me and I will include it in the collection. For now, read about
Where Sarah’s From, check out the other
poems
, and see just how fun and cool
this can be.


Where Sarah’s From

I am from shag carpet, from My Little Ponies, Dr. Who and a scratched window
seat.

I am from the brown house by the river, far from the road.

I am from the old
birch trees, the daffodils, and kaleidoscopic pansies.

I am from anxiety and
needless fear.

I am from Christmas Eve tree-trimming parties and defensive stubbornness,
from David and Ruth-called-Kim.

I’m from "You’re a California Girl and
don’t you forget it" and "Life
isn’t working the way the instruction manual said it would."

I am from
conversion from atheism to Catholicism, via my parents.

I’m from San Rafael
and Northwestern European cross-breeding, from pasta with pesto and Black Magic
Cake and using the good silver every day.

From home-schooling and home-cooking, and weeding the garden with the sun hot
on my back.

I am from "Sam the Gazebo" and other stories my mother
invented and told to me.

I am from overcast skies, drizzle, and soul-chilling
dampness.  I’m from
heating the house with a woodstove.

I am from my mother’s playfulness and my
father’s determination.
I am from flowering in college; I am from two and a half years in Alaska
encompassing great beauty and great pain.

I am from the spreading peace and
joy of my marriage to my husband.

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