Poetry Friday: Where I'm From

Welcome to the poetry playground. I love the glee and exuberance of the children in this photo. I look forward to reading your posts.

Last month, I challenged our memoir writing group to write a poem for April. I shared George Ella Lyon's "Where I'm From" as a mentor poem. I've had students write these and dabbled in the format, but this is the first time that I've completed one of my own. 

I was talking with someone from another writing group that I challenged to write family stories in 2025. She was surprised to hear me say that writing is hard for me. I actually committed to finishing this poem for Poetry Friday so I would have a set deadline for finishing.  It's still a draft, but I'm offering it here as my current effort. 

 

                  Where I’m From 

I am from the green glider in the front yard,

from Uncle Wiggily’s board game and Chatty Cathy.

I am from a simple gray three-bedroom home

with Daddy’s long-dreamed of family room addition.

 

I am from marigolds, princess feathers, red roses,

from the pink crepe myrtle and showy mimosa trees.

I am from a garden that occupied ¾ of the backyard

with rows of potatoes, tomatoes, green beans, and weeds.

 

I am from hanging laundry on the clothesline,

from sweeping the floors and weeding the garden.

I am from walks to the library with best friend, Dortha,

with a stop at Rexall Drug for strawberry ice cream cones.

 

I am from Hawthorne and William Gay Elementary Schools,

from the junior high Mustangs and high school’s black and gold

I am from Mrs. Truttman’s creation of  “The Sugar Plum Tree,”

from Mrs. Lewallen’s adopted ship and memorized poems.

 

I am from Mrs. Frew’s split class with the addition of Charlie,

from learning some Braille and setting up math problems.

I am from Mrs. LeFlore’s newspaper from the Middle Ages,

from 6^th grade graduation and “We’ll Remember Always.”

 

I am from Mrs. Long’s health classes (Have Another Cancer Stick!),

from Mrs. Massaro’s French classes and evening program,

I am from Mrs. Thrasher’s prep for Southeastern’s competitions,

from BFF Jan’s pledge to write a tear jerker in my senior yearbook (she did).

 

I am from grandmothers, Ella Martin and Martha Ada Young,

from Duff rancher and Scifres preacher grandfathers.

I am from morning Sunday School and evening Sacrament meetings,

from home study seminary and Gold and Green Balls.

 

I am from Primary on Thursdays and Mutual on Wednesdays,

from salt dough villages and scattered Israel on a bath towel.

I am from Billie Thompson’s Beehive class in the kitchen,

from recreational singing and square-dancing lessons.

 

I am from Scifres family reunions at Platt National Park,

from sleeping on pallets when visiting cousins,

I am from listening as grownups play Moon in the kitchen,

from loving the laughter and stories they told.

 

I am from a Dad who could fix anything and read my history books,

from a seamstress Mom who made Velma’s and my wedding dresses.

I am from Dad’s, “When you’re out of bananas, you’re out of groceries,”

to Mom’s Labor Day proclamations, “We are turning over a new leaf!”

 

I am from biscuits & gravy and chicken & dumplings,

from Aunt Edna’s fudge and Aunt Ruby Dee’s chocolate pies.

I am from Aunt Nan’s chilled glasses for root beer floats,

from blackberry cobbler and Great Grandma’s chocolate roll.

 

I am from summers in Tulsa with Velma’s growing family,

from sister Kay’s love of books passed on to me,

I am from brother Karl, the best friend any girl could have,

from siblings scattered across four states, but forever good friends.

 

I am from Ellis and Lillian, parents who taught by example,

from front yard waves with love & tears at the end of a visit.

I am from parents who loved fiercely, but left us too soon,

from their love that surrounds, supports and sustains me.

 

 - Ramona Behnke, draft

 

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