Poems – 9/2020 on

Where I’m From  

Naritra  Chatterjee

 I am from the dazzling chromatic ribbons of culture

From incense and sandalwood that burn my nostrils  
I am from the scarlet and flaxen powers that coat my face
(Crumbling, earthy)

I’m from the magic of Bengali, 
    mellifluous, and soft, like how honey tastes. 
I’m from এখানে আসুন ,and আমার কথা শোন
From homemade food, cooked in pots

I am from generations of thinkers, and entrepreneurs. 
People who love me, and don’t, that’s where I’m from

I am from the shyness that always caused rough starts
From the longing to touch others’ hearts.
I am from being different, but just wanting to be the same
All the loneliness that ended up in this art


I am from the inky treasures that adorn my walls,
Easy solitude in the spines of gentle seaside hues, soft blues,
 greys and browns. 

I’m from the tang of sweet acidity and vanilla halls
From the glimmering world of wishing wells and fairytales 


I’m from the ultramarine of fantasy oceans,
The velveteen sheen of the stage curtains just before showtime

From the thrum of the violin, vibrating inside me
To all the music, that is my life


For I’m from that feeling of utter aliveness, a rush of flow of ruthless energy.
From that deep thrilling undercurrent of danger, that makes me feel richer and better and more alive than anything else.

I am from the choices and changes of a story I’m still writing. 

                                                 – 

I Am From

Ly Cooley

I am from Saigon, Vietnam

A city that no longer exists.

I am from my mother’s orphanage

From the lost children of the Vietnam war

Whom live between two identities

Accepted by none.

I’m from the sole tattered photo my mom owns 

Of her dad.

An American soldier, lost to the war.

I am from my mother’s pho cart 

Two years old, and tucked underneath

Shielded from the sweltering sun.

I am from my dad’s Cyclo rides

From his sweat drenched shirt

And the daily struggle to provide.

I’m from chain smoking and skipping meals

And from Sunday night confessions.

I’m from my dad’s daily visits 

To his favorite Pho stand.

I’m from my parent’s hopes

As we await our fate

To come to America.

I’m from clasped hands and prayer beads

From broken English and interviews

From our elation of the news

We are finally approved!

I’m from the plane ride to New York

Three-years-old with curious eyes

A bright future.

I am from never fully grasping

My parent’s sacrifice

Yet always holding it close

Feeling the ripples of their trauma along the way.

I’m from new beginnings and identities

From first-generation college student

From breaking generational curses and therapy

               I am from the pile of books in the corner of the hallway

               Still waiting for their place.

               I am from medicated oil, and a hot bowl of Pho

               My mom’s miracle cure all.

               I am from yesterday’s prayer and tomorrow’s hopes.

I am from the accumulation of all of our dreams.

Where I Am From
By Notre Dame Moreau Class Section 34-092021

I am from fields of corn as far as the eye can see.
I am from pinecones and evergreens; poison ivy and mosquito bites.
I am from Commerce and Detroit, from Detroit Tigers games and summer boat rides.
I am from Edgewood, Kentucky; a community bonded over faith and family.

I am from a place where my escape is being able to ski with friends in the winter.
I am from running, morning races, and evening workouts. I am from the scent of new Nike shoes and
muddy dirt trails.
I am from sitting by the fire pit with friends and family alike, talking about whatever, looking at the stars,
and singing along to country all through the night.
I am from the most popular sport in the world, the sport that gave me the opportunity to create
lifelong friends and experience unity.
I am from the fin/Users/julielandsman 1/Library/Containers/com.apple.mail/Data/Library/Mail Downloads/8858B82E-4C36-4F2D-8934-5775A9F4B409/Moreau Class Section 34-092021 Where I Am From (Text).txtely sewn leather baseballs which alters its spin through different grips.
I am from working to improve, trying to perfect my craft each and every day, and conditioning myself so
there are no excuses, so that come match days, I could make my team, coach, and family proud.

I am from oak wood church pews with a crucifix on the wall.
I am from E-Street radio while driving east down I-90.
I am from catching up at the dinner table from a long days work.
I am from mommaís homemade meals, from lifted F350s hauling cattle at 15 over, and the Kendall
County Fair. I am from empty cups of sweet iced tea + Whataburger trash that filled the trashcan in
the house.
I am from classical music and NPR, from analog entertainment only, piano practice, and reading by the
light in the hall.

I am from long car rides packed in for hours, bonding ñ and arguing ñ with my family.
I am from a crowded dinner table, food spilled here and there.
I am from basketball in the driveway with my brother; from disputes over the score and almost every
call.
I am from my momís hugs before goodbye and my dadís ëI love youí as I walk out the door.

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.

 By Juliet Crocker

I Am From

I am from homemade play-dough,

from strings and beads.

I am from freshly baked bread and music filling the walls.

I am from the front-yard tree that whose soil grasped the smooth hands of my mother and stepfather.

I am from bedtime stories and undiscovered worlds,

from Newfoundland and farming grandparents,

and from weird and weirder,

from unconditional love.

I am from Christmas music while decorating the tree,

from Jigs dinner and garden veggies,

from feeding 1500 chickens,

and from quilting with a loved one.

Butterflies in a field.

I am from the moments of beauty that are woven into me with passing time.

I Am From

Taiya Farrugia

I am from swing sets that sway.

I am from sitting on the porch watching the lightning strike.

I am from birds chirping and cars humming.

I am from bike rides to the sandy beach.

I am from big fluffy dogs with heart shaped noses.

I am from green grass and blossoming flowers.

I am from the busiest city.

I am from tall highrises. 

I am from a busy household with doors slamming,tv loud,phones ringing, and sisters screaming. 

I am from bouncy trampolines and galloping horses.

I am from the Mediterranean with the sea breeze,fresh light crispy pastries ,and warm weather. 

I am from my dad’s sweet and savory pecan pie.

I am from my mom’s hugs that can solve any problem.

I am from laughing all night with friends until we can’t breath.

I am from island music with sweet mangos and starfruits.