Poetry Thursday - Where I'm From

To borrow a phrase from Fred at Fragments from Floyd
- "'If you don't know where you're from, you'll have a hard time saying where you're going.' Wendell Berry, among others, has voiced this idea that we need to understand our roots to know our place in the world."
The inspiration for this post is from a number of places perhaps the poem Where I'm From by George Ella Lyons is the place to start.

Where I’m From
I am from printer’s ink and hospital disinfectant
stacks of endless paper and smells of ether.

I am from green lawns, camellias, fuchsias and baby tear moss, secret garden hiding places, hollyhock dolls and dream castles all rolled into one.

From fences filled with chayote and passion flower vines, the fragrance of white roses in moonlight and acres of apricots just beyond the last streetcar stop.

I am from Pot-luck dinners, picnics in the park, beloved voices raised in laughter, the sound of the merry-go-round, the half-fearful joy of going up and down. Clinton’s cafeteria, subway rides and ice-cream cones, paddle boats on the lake in Echo Park, swans eating from my hand beside the fountain.

I am from watching breathlessly as the trains come in, listening for the whistle, the chug, chug, chug of the engine, the hiss of steam billowing along the cars – wishing, yes wishing I could climb on when the conductor calls “all aboard.”

I am from textile paint, wood fiber flowers, a dining table filled with silk, satin and tulle the late night whir of the sewing machine, the clack of printing presses, iron lungs, and empty places, loneliness and doctors and dark night tears.

I am from pulpit pounding preachers, a God who couldn’t hear, cross-matched with beloved saints, the serenity of caring hands and voices and spirit filled retreats.

I’m from an amalgamated heritage of Daughters of the American Revolution and strong, creative immigrant stock; fresh squeezed orange juice, pomegranates, avocados, artichokes, Campbell’s soup and peanut butter sandwiches

I am from gathering shells in tide pools and on warm sandy beaches, from popping seaweed with barefoot toes, from magnifying glasses, nature guides and tables filled with samples and specimens waiting to be identified and named.

I am from treasured books and handmade maple dressers, from joy and laughter and too many memories to name.

I got this from Tabor at One Day at a Time The template and responses from some other people can be found at Fred's site Fragments from Floyd