(And yes, she choked me up.)
Where I’m From
by Jane, age 11
I am from paper, from Prismacolor, and clay.
I am from the bonny glen.
Rolling, friendly, it sounds like mockingbirds.
I am from the chicory, the lavender smell.
I am from planning birthday menus
and blond hair and blue eyes,
from Rose and Beanie and Rilla, my sisters.
I am from after-dinner-sing-alongs
From “Practice your piano”
and “For every problem there is a solution.”
I am from Catholicism,
my reflection in the mirror in my dress for church.
I’m from Manhattan, the Bronx and the deep South,
Daddy’s waffles and circle pizzas.
From the bunny bowling set,
Rose’s “Bunny won’t catch cabbage,”
from when Wonderboy signed “I love you”
through the glass at The Little Gym,
and the swimming lessons Daddy gives us.
I am from my bookshelf, the loom room,
on Mom-and-Dad’s bed, where I knocked Rose’s loose tooth out,
and all the wonderful nooks-and-crannies here.
Always leave thread in the needle
poetry friday: “America, why are your libraries full of tears?”
Poetry with kids, Storified
“Our ground time here will be brief”