Poetry Friday: "I Am From"

I'm still bouncing back here, so next week I'll have the whole account of a recent joyful event in our lives. The last time I reported on something like this was in 2021. (Subtle, eh?) 

Ramona Behnke has the round-up this week and she's playing with Georgia Ella Lyon's "Where I'm From" form so I'm tossing in a couple of my own incarnations of the form. 

Happy Poetry Friday, and be sure to visit Ramona for the round-up at Pleasures from the Page. 

I Am From

Karen Edmisten 

I am from knee socks, Hostess cupcakes, and patent leather Mary Janes worn home from the store. From hollyhock dolls*, dandelion bouquets, and lightning bugs in the backyard at dusk. 

I am from Santa Claus, the Easter bunny, and a squishy pillow at the drive-in, a six-year-old’s safety in the cocoon of a dark car.

I am from “I’m rubber, you’re glue,” and “Nuh-uh is not a word, Karen.” (“Nuh-uh,” I’d retort, “I can make it a word if I want to.”) 

I am from Alaskan glaciers, the sunrise on the Florida coast, road trips, and airplanes. I am from everywhere and nowhere, the child of a pilot and his bride.

I am from Air Force brats bonding through a shared, strange life, from always being the new kid in school, from learning how cruel and how kind children can be. 

I am from laughing with my sister so hard it makes my stomach hurt. 

I am from the shock of having life turned inside out and upside down, from learning that sometimes things must be torn down before they can be rebuilt. 

I am from celebrating rebuilding, from being remade again and again. 

I am from Tom, I am from Emily, Lizzy, and Kate. I am from five other babies I never met (but who I feel cheering me on daily.) 

I am from bewilderment at the concept that marriage and motherhood could make me happy.

I am from that happiness. 

I am from my discovery of home education. 

I am from Anne-with-an-e, Betsy-Tacy, and Ramona Quimby. From George Eliot, Madeleine L’Engle, and Rumer Godden, from Wendell Berry, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Richard Wilbur, Louisa May Alcott, Anne Tyler, and Nora Ephron. I am from endless authors and perennial poets, from read-alouds, and verse, and from the joy of the book log. 

I am from the simplest pleasures: dark chocolate, steaming coffee, walking, friends, talking, iced coffee, theater, autumn and spring, and letters. Still letters. 

I am from words, paper, typewriters, desktops, laptops, manuscripts, books, and the Oxford comma. 

I am from nomads, from possibilities, from imagination.

I am from a longing for roots, found finally in the knowledge that this earth is not a nomad's home. 

And here's another past version: 

I Am From

I am from knee socks, Hostess cupcakes

and black patent leather shoes worn home from the store.

I am from coast to coast, from everywhere and nowhere,

the child of a pilot and his bride. I am from base housing,

plain vanilla walls and Barbie clothes sewn from Thailand’s silk.

I am from holly hock dolls and walking to school,

from dandelion bouquets, from Alaskan glaciers and the sun

rising over the Atlantic on a Florida coast.

I am from summer car trips to Grandma and Grandpa's,

with stops to see Lookout Mountain and the Truman Museum

along the way.

I am from staid New England stock, from Indiana folks,

from John and Norma, Madeline and Jim.

I am from lightning bugs in the backyard

and the comforting scent of Grandma's Noxzema.

I am from “Be polite” and “Do your best,”

and “Goodnight, John-boy” at bedtime,

from “I’m rubber, you’re glue,”

and from “Nuh-uh is not a word.”

I am from my squishy pillow at the drive-in,

from a six-year-old’s delight in the

dark, safe cocoon of the family car.

I am from Santa Claus and Easter eggs, dinnertime grace,

and from bedtime prayers that faded away.

I am from Germany and Wales, from homecooked meals,

decorated doll cakes** on my birthday,

and home-sewn clothes

that made me proud of my mother’s skill.

From Grandma, who thought I loved peas

because I gobbled them up (just to get rid of them),

and from Grandpa, who convinced me

that a signal tower was his own private Christmas tree.

I am from my grandmother’s habit of smearing butter

on a scraped knee, and taking me to “the grocery”

no matter what store it was.

I am from Mom, who decorated the house for every holiday,

and took us blueberry hunting by the creek;

from Dad, who told me that thunder

was the giants bowling in the sky,

and whose hand holding mine is the only thing I remember seeing

when he returned from a year in Korea.

I am from Air Force brats bonding through a shared, strange life,

from a family who taught me without words that "skin color" 

meant nothing and “human being” meant everything.

I am from nomads, from possibilities and from imagination.

I am from a longing for roots, found finally, and only, in God.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  * Hollyhock dolls

** Barbie doll cake (My mom made the best cakes!)