Abigail and Kimberly have sent such fine poems: One is a celebration of Hispanic Month…enjoy!

I am From

Abigail

I am from light pink pointe shoes

From capezio and russian pointe

I am from the swampy suburbs of florida

With alligator infested murky swamps ,sunny, sandy beaches, and palm trees galore 

I am from front yard hydrangeas,

With pink and purple flowers smelling saccharine 

I’m from sweet and thick ham on christmas and loud talking for no reason

I’m from the floral and leafy wreaths on the staircase and sentimental pumpkin candles in august

From good ol’ santa claus and easter bunny chocolates

Cherries and the snow, and no baked cookies, family recipes I love to show

I am from the argent, shiny pearls my grandma always wears around her neck

The crawfish boil in Louisiana

Belting Sweet Caroline and Don’t Stop Believin’ at 12 AM on a cruise ship, our voices hoarse

Waiting for eyes of the blind book 4 with anticipation rising

Going to golf games for my famous cousin sam burns,

Hearing the thwack of the club hitting the ball

The sticky, painful mic tape

And the uncomfy wooden box of the pointe shoes on my feet

Going to pride fest with the rainbows and lights

Fireworks and snaps on the 4th of july

The loud “CRACK” splitting the night

Where I’m From 

Kimberly Pineda

I am from the Spanish music my mother blasts as she wakes me up asking for me to help her

clean.

Sometimes the music is heaven to my ears, other times it’s hell to my ears.

I am from the tasty chicken smell coming out of the pot that wanders down the hall while

my mother cooks happily.

I am from the crazy in love couple who left their homeland to give their children bigger and

better opportunities than they ever had.

I am from the countless nights my sister and I stayed up late night laughing trying to stay

as quiet as possible because my mother had worked overtime again.

I am from the cement where all the scars on my body were formed from playing outside with my

sister.

I am from the countless Mexican family-owned stores in my neighborhood.

The Mexican flag waves at me proudly as I walk by those stores and I get a sense of

home.

I am from a community that roams around the world because there are millions of us trying to

escape poverty.

I am from the elderly who are 70 and still work because their family can barely get by. Legally

they cannot stop working either.

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