A poem based on on ‘Where I’m From’ by George Ella Lyon
If you’d like — write your own and put it in the comments.
I am from shiny plates kept in wood, glass cases.
I am from brown couches and dark rooms with curtains that made it hard to let the light shine in; strangely hard to open
I am from backyard gardens merely started and grass sometimes perfectly cut by men whose attention I tried to win.
I’m from apples and honey and matzah ball soup
From Susan and Joel, Helen and Harry making our home darker and like a battle ground site, screaming and crying and disrespect
From Devorah, a child who made life bearable and silly and knowing my heart
From you’re a liar, only happy when you’re buying things and why can’t you be more like a girl with long braided hair who gets better grades than you.
I’m from synagogue on Saturdays.
I’m from Philadelphia and South jersey, white Eastern European Jews going to fancy restaurants trying to buy my love.
Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on white bread and ice cream bought so that i’d eat something for god’s sake.
From, “I wish he would just die,” spoken by a woman with perfectly painted nails who was supposed to be your grandmother
The begging for approval, lying to keep the peace, waiting for the shower started for a moment of needed tranquility
From don’t touch those
Rings and necklaces hidden in drawers meant to be opened or shared maybe when she died.
A woman — who now wants to be friends.
