We have three more poems this week..from Paul, Jill and Cathryn! A month rich with language..Thank you!

I am From 

Paul Giovanello

I am from notebooks, 

from pages of lists and scribbled creativity.

I am from the triple pane windows that invited light inside our home,

(Tall, transparent, 

allowing each season’s beauty to be visible and admired).

I am from the bluegrass outside My Old Kentucky Home

the weeping willow 

whose branches drooped over the backyard corner

like a stage curtain I could hide behind when I needed a break from the world.

I’m from Grohmans Lane and Willow Grove Circle,

from the Musik Express at Adventureland and fireworks on the Belvedere.

I’m from cardboard boxes and moving trucks,

from friends who became penpals before fading into memories.

I’m from bowling alleys and swimming pools,

from seven fishes and Derby pie,

and the loyal fans of the Big Blue Nation.

I’m from Sunday phone calls with grandparents and eating in restaurants more than my kitchen,

from “make your bed” and “get off the rug,”

and oldies that blared from the station wagon’s radio.

I’m from “Grandpa George went up to heaven” and learning life is filled with sadness,

from the actuary who helped me solve equations

and the matriarch who put a Christmas tree in every room of the house.

I’m from morning devotions in homeroom and prayer circles before lunch,

holding hands with the same kids who made jokes at my expense.

I am from pneumonia, braces, and weekly allergy shots,

from ‘dumbing down” my intelligence so nobody dared call me smart,

my happiest moments and greatest fears.

I’m from the ongoing cycle of weight gain and weight loss,

from Clearasil and acne and a series of bad haircuts,

the scars that stain my face and the words that stab my heart.

I’m from disappointment and rejection,

from being at the right place, but at the wrong time,

then losing my confidence and feeling defeated,

and settling for a prize far beneath my worth.

Inside my thoughts, these moments reside,

a collection of puzzle pieces,

that when assembled together, reveal the portrait of my reflection.

Whether the source of my laughter, 

or the root of my tears,

I am my experiences.

I am my memories.

Kathryn  Goncalves

I Am From

I am from broken plates

From dusty Longaberger baskets to Goya Adobo seasonings

I am from the off ramp of the busiest street

Where you can taste the ambition

And feel the sadness while walking along

The broken bottle streets

I am from the aloe vera plant 

That lays so fair and gentle 

On my mother’s bay window

But if you get close

The thorns pinch you so quick

You don’t time to react

I’m from Garis family reunions and unexpected phone calls

From Retha and Balbina 

I’m from the yellers and drinkers

From “You are my precious princess” and “You are not mine”

I’m from church choir practice every Monday Night 

Where the only more out of tune voice than mine

Were the confessions being whispered

upstairs

I’m from Providence Rhode Island 

With a mix of Souderton and Praia

Sunday dinners of roast and potatoes

And cachupa 

From the grandfather who jumped 

In the lake and never came out

To the grandmother who sang 

And made food for anyone who

Came on her doorstep

I am from two broken 

Plates that have made me whole

I am from 

Brokenness

Where I’m From

By Jill Lynne Ness

I am from Kraft Mac and Cheese, 

from Kenmore washers and Clorox. 

I am from Hamburger helper, 

from clean, smoothed sheets, and always paired socks. 

I am from the wooly bear caterpillar, 

from the solid oak tree,

I am from Minnesota winters frozen solid, 

from the moth that was set free.

I am from Ness and Schneider, 

from checkers and the it’s not fairs. 

I am from it’s boys against the girls,

from board games, and see if I cares. 

I am from lefse and søtsuppe, 

from Shirley and Clayt. 

I am from potlucks in church basements, 

from casseroles and homemade cake.

I am from the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, 

from the Sermon on the Mount.

I am from the Gospel According to St. James,

from more Lutherans than you can count.

I am from Bisquick and Mrs. Butterworth,

from Violet and Cliff.

I am from hymns on the organ,

from 80’s mix tapes and a solo guitar riff.

I am from Anne Dudley and Governor Bradstreet,

from poets and musical ears.

I am from Salem witches and numerous politicians,

from the shampoo with no tears.

I am from skeletons in the closet,

from family black sheep.

I am from story tellers and song writers,

from the memories that they keep. 

I am the wooly bear caterpillar,

my cocoon woven of the memories to which I belong.

In spring, I emerge with wings and a beating heart, 

Encompassing all that I come from.