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 a 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 the 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.
1. Read the poem twice. Look for patterns: repeated phrases, types
of imagery and metaphors, tone.
2. Generate ideas from your
life: in your house, in your yard, in your neighborhood, memorable relatives’
names, foods from special family events, classic sayings in your family, the
place you keep your memories. You may
think of other categories as well.
3. Generate a new hook to
take the place of Lyon’s I am from.
4. Draft your own “Where I’m
From” poem, have it peer read, revise
it, prepare it in FC form, decorate it for hanging in our room, and be prepared
to present it.