Based off of "Where I'm From" by George Ella Lyon
I am from the bell-shaped flowers
off the blue jacaranda tree,
from apple pie in the oven
and apple peels
pippin green in the sink.
I am from red fur and yellow fur and cold wet noses
pressed into hands.
I am from gasoline stained asphalt and
chilly coffee mornings,
from apple moonshine
thick and gold
in old mason jars.
I am from small class sizes and
"the school had to cut that,"
from the same faces around my desk
and "she walks like a lesbian."
I am from a chapter a night and
Mom doing all the voices.
I am from snow white hair and
knick knacks collected
just for us.
I am from crossed out pencils and
smudged black ink,
from books stacked on books and
worn edges and ripped covers
and loving dog ears.
I am from that warm paper-smell
and journals
full of half-formed thoughts.
that's the funny thing about poems, only the poet knows the true meaning. everyone else can only interpret it for themselves.
