Where I Am From When I Am Homesick.

Where I Am From When I Am Homesick

I am from the wind whistling through tree branches and the soft, green grass damp with fresh dew, from rusty, red wagons, and from mud pies decorated with leaves, sticks, rocks, and wilted flowers.

I am from a boxy, greenish-gray house built by Grandpa’s hands with a hot, wood stove and a deliciously dark, cool basement filled with treasures, cousins, and canned pears.

I am from wild raspberries, red tomatoes, freshly sliced cucumbers, and from apple trees filled with over-ripe fruit so noisy with the endless buzzing of bees.

I am from tables connected to tables connected to tables for big Thanksgiving dinners, and laughing long into the night while owls hooted outside the window, from Aunt Barbara and Uncle Frank with twinkling eyes and big, warm hugs, and from the Connelly way: Laugh before seven cry before eleven.

I am from the creators, the jimmy-riggers, and the take care of everyone you can, but take care of your own first.

From fresh air, an apple a day, and the make do with what you’ve got.

I am from the questioners, the unknowing, the lonely, and the quiet church of human grace.

I am from the Constitution State, the Nutmeg State, the Provisions State, and the Land of Steady Habits, from raisin cookies secretly fed to an overprotective doberman, and from simple, fried pork chops eaten with fingers alone.

From the apron wearing, family glue who never seemed to sleep, from the grandpa that loved me best, but that I hold no memory of, and from a man I never even knew.

I am from the faded Polaroid shots cracked with age, from striped shirts and short shorts, from summer days that never seemed to end, from fireflies and family that seem so long lost now.



I was introduced to George Ella Lyon’s poem Where I’m From and Fred First Floyd’s form¬†by Elan Morgan when I read her beautifully written Where I Am From When I Am Tired. Then I followed her link to Alexandra Rosas poem. I was so inspired and moved by what I read that I decided to write my own. Filling out Fred First Floyd’s “form” was a very personal and emotional experience for me. I highly recommend that you try it for yourself.

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