Where I'm From

Don't you just love a good poetry prompt?

I normally only post once a week on Fridays, but here’s a little bonus.

Marc Typo

posted a fabulous poem this morning based on “Where I’m From,” by George Ella Lyon.

I remember my daughter coming home from school years ago with a poem written using Lyon’s original as a template and thinking how cool it was to see what images and memories populated her version. But I’d never tried it myself.

I gave it a shot today on a cold, snowy Monday when inspiration was not in great supply. It made for a challenging exercise, both in terms of memory and poetry. Maybe you want to give it a try, too? It doesn’t have to take too long. In fact, I think maybe the best results come when you don’t think too hard about it and write what comes to mind first.

The original poem is here and I even found a nifty template online that’ll help you organize your thoughts here.

I’d love to read what you come up with. Here’s mine:

Where I’m From

I am from a homemade swing with 
	creaking ropes. 
From powdered milk and orange juice 
	concentrate from a can.
I am from a wood stove in the basement,
	and a homemade ringtoss game.
I am from hemlocks crowded together
	whispering, and white pines with branches 
	too high to climb.

I am from chilly aunts and an uncle for the ages.
From called for but couldn’t come, 
	and you can’t get there from here.
I’m from Sea Fair, born on the Atlantic,
	and Burton, blown up at the mill.
I am from a blacksmith’s forge and
	from my father who swam like water.

I am from dark at four o’clock, 
	and birch bark valentines.
I’m from strawberries down the road, 
	mostly eaten on the way back home.
I am from a ramshackle cabin at the lake, 
	and bare feet stained with pitch.
From home cooking and TV dinners 
	at parent/teacher conference time.
I am from those moments muffled by snow, 
	and the mornings that smelled of the sea.