At the Gathering on Sunday, February 26, 2023, we reflected on the question “Where are you from?” and wrote I Am From poems. Below are a few written by our community
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I AM FROM by Danny Lloyd
I am from yellow boats and reel-to-reel tape machines
I am from bricks and shag carpet the color of orange sherbet
I am from the rose gardens of my mother whose fragrance comforted and thorns pricked
I am from books and films from Ratliff and Stone and the locked memories of Hogan and Murphy
I am from the love of art and alcohol and from words of kindness and words of anger
I am from old men with old spirits and young men with old spirits
I am from Carolina and Chicago, all the salt and all the sugar, from death and Awakening, from Celts and Vikings
I am from those moments now stored away in dimensions unreachable for another time, another place and another rose garden.
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I Am From by Cheri Baker
I am from from the glistening mountains
from horse halters to dog collars
from the ocean of blue and greens.
I am from from dirt that provides rich food
I am from boulders and blue sky
whose freedom allowed creative hikes
I am from the Robert and Greenough families
I am from the hard work and service
and from do your best and be kind
I am from the spirit of nature
I am from Iroquois and Cherokee
from corn on the cob and meatloaf
from surviving trauma to thriving
I am from Humor
I am from those moments of LOVE
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I Am From by Frances Dawson
I am from pearl rings, cast iron skillets, scribbled bibles, and stamp collections,
from Timmy the bear and recurring nightmares.
I am from small homes to homes that speak of success, and back again.
I am from the hydrangea at cousin Juanita’s
whose size and wildness speak to its gardeners long ago.
I am from Grandpa’s wall clock, Dad’s sake sets, age worn cookbooks and Fiesta stoneware,
from Goodman and Maynard.
I am from tension, confusion, and resilience,
and from “mach schnell,” “chimleys,” and children should be seen and not heard.
I am from devotees and atheists.
I am from Mt. Clemens and Ireland and Appalachia,
from creamed chip beef on toast, pots of coffee, pot roast, and sukiyaki.
I am from Sunday school in the Appalachians,
and from once a year ice cream straddled atop the fence outside coal miners housing.
I am from moving trucks and corporate ladders.
I am from recreating myself and internalizing the feedback in each new town.
I am from those moments that scattered us – away from family, and story, and roots.
— — —
I Am From by Barbara Gage
I am from a large cedar tree in the front of my grandparents’ home under whose drooping branches I played with my sister, sought shade on a hot day, hid from those calling me to do chores, from a big, yellow teddy bear named Tiny Tim who absorbed my tears and became worn from my hugging and from a sewing machine with bobbins, needles, and colorful spools of thread, upon which fabrics were turned into shiny, slick lame color guard flags, satin prom dresses, costumes for school plays and Halloween, Christmas presents, Native regalia, and quilts sewn with love.
I am from Oklahoma red dirt and clay, an old white house on a corner lot, a sister shared bedroom, tornado sirens, blistering summer heat, and ice storms that broke tree branches, turned the streets to ice rinks, closed school and halted daily life.
I am from music on 33 LP vinyl records --on a brown console stereo, volume up for dancing and singing when parents weren’t home and later from a turntable in the living room entertainment center. From music which holds visceral memories that bring smiles and tears.
I am from a suitcase ready for an adventure with a passport hungry for new stamps on the pages. I like the bustle of airports but not the long lines, the aroma of new foods and trying local cuisine, the language I do not understand, and the indigenous clothing and textiles that I bring home in that suitcase.
I am from J.D. and Imogene, the Holts, and Gages and from “It will all come out in the wash” and “Don’t use my good scissors!” I am from classrooms over the decades—mine, my mother’s, my daughter’s and my nieces’--chalkboards, erasers, white boards, dry erase markers, and smart boards; grade books, pencil and paper, computer, Chrome book, online learning; from dresses, hose, and heels to casual jeans and tee shirts, from open doors and windows to metal detectors and scanned badges; from nuclear attack drills to shelter in place drills.
I am from Segmekwe, Mother Earth, whose life sustains us as we abuse Her, from sweetgrass, sage, cedar and tobacco. I am from Potawatomi and Cherokee, and Jagenagomnan-all those who came before me and from the drum beat that calls me to the arena to dance after I smudge myself with smoke, from the tinkling sound of jingles from colorful jingle dresses, from sacred eagle feathers and prayer circles where the smoke burns my eyes and in which ceremonies and culture are passed down.
I am from Chinese Thanksgiving on the Friday after Thanksgiving, and decorated sugar cookies for holidays. My granddaughter and I roll out the dough, use cookie cutters shaped like trees, stars, eggs, pumpkins, flowers---whatever the season --to make trays of cookies to decorate with sticky, sweet icing. She prides herself on decorating the quirkiest, funniest ones she can and we send pictures to Uncle, who shares her sense of humor.
I am from all the ancestors who walked on before me and from Mother Earth …….
