I Come From...
a poem on finding home
Inspired by George Ella Lyon’s poem, Where I’m From. If you prefer to listen to the spoken piece, here’s the link.
I’m from a land colonized by Spain for 300 years,
where saints, priests, and Catholic schoolgirls are the norm.
I’m from an old man
whose blood, sweat, and tears
were poured into pieces of land
to feed his six children.
I’m from a strong matriarch
with a fast mouth, business acumen, and skills,
one who never says no—
and if she does,
would give them a piece of her mind.
I’m from days and nights
of beer bottles and coconut rum,
of muffled voices
in dark bedrooms.
I’m from silence
and quiet
and observation
in a world that doesn’t seem to know I exist.
I’m one of five siblings
with personalities so distinct
you can tell us apart.
I’m from a land of fairy tales
and Prince Charmings,
and mermaids
and paper dolls.
I’m from sun-filled afternoons,
running with neighborhood kids,
laughing, screaming, yelling,
playing like there’s no tomorrow.
I’m from big dreams
and mysticism
and witches
and fortunes.
I’m from ghosts
and half-horse, half-man creatures
that haunt and terrify me at night.
I’m from knee-deep water,
howling winds at night,
wondering what’s next for me.
I’m from love
and hopes
and dreams,
from caring deeply
and lovingly.
I’m from wanting to be noticed
and accepted,
of love lost
and found.
I’m from the sweet smell of dung
in the land my grandparents gave us.
I’m from frills
and joy
and hope
with friends from all over.
I’m from the most beautiful mother
whose mission in life
is to love us unconditionally.
I’m from makeshift swings
and snake juice
to remove pimples from my skin,
from raw eggs in milk
and ginger in my clothes
to ward off evil.
I’m from bringing flowers
and genuflecting
in seven churches
when Jesus dies on the Cross.
I’m from crossing straits
and oceans
to fight for love.
I’m from service
and generosity,
teaching the blind to love God,
from giving a lot of myself
for the good of others.
I’m from nuns
and priests
and churches,
from ashes on my forehead
to remind me
I will return to dust.
From humid days
to shortness of breath,
from families falling out
and back in.
I’m from miracles
and magic,
flying spoons and forks,
from elves and dwarves,
and dark
and light
energies.
From wishing
and dreaming
to places far and wide.
From coming home to myself—
far
and between.
