IMOGENE’S NOTEBOOK

Where I’m From

A poem

Reflection, photo by Author

I am from immigrants who cut their ties,
flexing their work ethic.
A place amongst the masses.
Always forward,
yearning not for what was left behind.

I am from shared bedrooms,
brother and sister.
Couch seats four,
two on the floor.
Model home discount.

I am from my mother’s warm leg stubble
against my cheek,
when I couldn’t sleep.
Measles,
GI Joe, a healing toy.

I am from buttered bread dipped in the Sunday sauce,
boyhood hunger quenched for the moment,
a timeless delight.
Half an extra sausage snuck onto my plate,
Grandma Rosie,
where all the love lies.
Too many Kent cigarettes,
lipstick butts in the thick glass ashtray.
Gone too soon.

I am from holding our Sheperd’s leash tight,
dragged down the street,
bits of asphalt one with my shredded skin.
Tossed in the pool to clean my wounds,
my dad’s old school first aid.

I am from the magic of woods,
Narnia.
A carpet of pine needles under bare feet.
Army surplus, pocketknives, canvas tents,
handheld transistor radios, rockets.
My mother ringing her bell from the top of the cement steps,
time to come home.

I am from my dad’s egg and pepper sandwiches,
bakery fresh rolls.
Take us out for Friday night ice cream,
relieve my mom, preserve some sanity.

I am from the wonder of warm summer rain,
and building a fire in the snow,
one match.
Baseball in the street, chipping in for the broken window.
Football in the yard.
Pond hockey, frozen hands, a sip of my dad’s brandy.
Stitches, casts, and lots of bandaids.

I am from a boyhood well lived.

Where I’m from, Spring Valley, NY, 1963, photo from author’s family collection

This poem is in response to a prompt from Debra G. Harman, MEd. Inspired by “Where I’m From” by George Ella Lyon, and the inspiration I found from the many brave responses published on Imogene’s Notebook.