Where I’m From
by Shirley Wiseman
I am from a whistling, blue tea kettle,
from broken halloween lights in the attic
and a green glass chandelier.
I am from hummingbird feeders hanging in the backyard,
catching sunlight and moving with the wind.
I am from an old, empty bird bath,
and a windy stone path that I have walked a million times before.
I am from the peach tree and a clean, white mailbox.
I’m from chocolate chip cookies,
from black tea and tomato sauce.
I’m from the hand-me down clothes,
from basta! and oy vey!
I’m from matzah ball soup,
from the swingset and the sandbox.
I’m from the dusty books in the library,
and the piano I never learned how to play,
no matter how many times I tried.
I am from dance costumes,
from itchy sequins and stage fright.
I am from my bright blue house,
the only home I have ever known.
I am from a place we never fail to return to,
and that never fails to change.
by Shirley Wiseman
I am from a whistling, blue tea kettle,
from broken halloween lights in the attic
and a green glass chandelier.
I am from hummingbird feeders hanging in the backyard,
catching sunlight and moving with the wind.
I am from an old, empty bird bath,
and a windy stone path that I have walked a million times before.
I am from the peach tree and a clean, white mailbox.
I’m from chocolate chip cookies,
from black tea and tomato sauce.
I’m from the hand-me down clothes,
from basta! and oy vey!
I’m from matzah ball soup,
from the swingset and the sandbox.
I’m from the dusty books in the library,
and the piano I never learned how to play,
no matter how many times I tried.
I am from dance costumes,
from itchy sequins and stage fright.
I am from my bright blue house,
the only home I have ever known.
I am from a place we never fail to return to,
and that never fails to change.
Where I’m From
by Rachael Garcia
I am from pink ballet shoes, wrinkled and worn
from fresh strawberries dotted with seeds
and sparkling Christmas lights dotting my living room
I am from ven acá and dame tu mano, crossing the street
I am from a bonsai tree
whose branches reach out for sunlight through the window
from a green and pink plastic picnic table which sits in the yard
Accompanied by a rusty, old swing set
from globs of raw cookie dough,
grapefruit with powdered sugar on top,
And almost-burnt pecan pie with slightly melted vanilla ice cream on top
I am from Ocean City New Jersey’s sunlight and sand,
the wooden steps on 4th street
And New Hampshire soil,
dinner at the Green Barn
I am from shiny bikes, racing down the street,
secret hiding spots in the bushes and walkie-talkies which could only reach 150 feet
I am from cracked, blue sleds held together by duct-tape
and snowballs in the face
I am from the First Congregational Church of Sharon
From warm candle wax and prayer
I am from Janet Hershman’s School of Dance
From pliés and pointed toes
From maroon, gold, and white
I am from pom-poms and bright white shoes stained with red dust
I am from Amy and Todd
I am from love
by Rachael Garcia
I am from pink ballet shoes, wrinkled and worn
from fresh strawberries dotted with seeds
and sparkling Christmas lights dotting my living room
I am from ven acá and dame tu mano, crossing the street
I am from a bonsai tree
whose branches reach out for sunlight through the window
from a green and pink plastic picnic table which sits in the yard
Accompanied by a rusty, old swing set
from globs of raw cookie dough,
grapefruit with powdered sugar on top,
And almost-burnt pecan pie with slightly melted vanilla ice cream on top
I am from Ocean City New Jersey’s sunlight and sand,
the wooden steps on 4th street
And New Hampshire soil,
dinner at the Green Barn
I am from shiny bikes, racing down the street,
secret hiding spots in the bushes and walkie-talkies which could only reach 150 feet
I am from cracked, blue sleds held together by duct-tape
and snowballs in the face
I am from the First Congregational Church of Sharon
From warm candle wax and prayer
I am from Janet Hershman’s School of Dance
From pliés and pointed toes
From maroon, gold, and white
I am from pom-poms and bright white shoes stained with red dust
I am from Amy and Todd
I am from love
The Endless Possibilities of Childhood
by Rachel Hess Wachman
I am from books,
From musty pages bound with leather
Where everything is possible:
From Little House on the Prairie,
From Gone With The Wind.
I am from the dirt that molds itself
Onto my worn hiking boots
That slodge their way up Wiwaxy Gap.
I am from the Rockies of Lake O’Hara,
Where I traverse the trails with my cousins,
Singing Wicked songs until our voices fade in the wind.
I am from matzah ball soup,
From the sinkers and the floaters,
From the salty broth that burns my tongue.
I am from fall leaves crunching underfoot
As my family strolls to Dead Tree Pond.
I am from the yellow farmhouse,
From the dream that my parents
Painstakingly crafted into a reality.
I am from Nate The Great pancakes
On sleepy Sunday mornings.
I am from afternoon bike rides
With Daniel on Long Meadow Lane,
Where the potholes snag my wheels,
Pavement rushing towards me.
I am from perpetually scraped knees,
From bikes hitting mailboxes,
Telephone poles, curbs.
I am from melted Mini-Kiddie cones
At Crescent Ridge Dairy Farm,
From pestering bees and noxious cows.
I am from crickets chirping in the black backyard
From shining stars glittering among wispy clouds.
Where I am from,
Anything is possible!
Lake O’Hara: A lake with a lodge in the Canadian Rockies that my family has been going to for over 70 years
Wicked: My favorite Broadway musical
Matzah Ball Soup: A Jewish meal
Dead Tree Pond: A small pond in the woods behind my house
Long Meadow Lane: A street near my house
Where I'm From
by Isabel Boxerman
I am from stuffed animals,
from dress-up clothes and swing sets.
I am from wheelbarrow rides through an endless blanket of green.
I am from azalea bushes with an assortment of blooming flowers,
that would smile to me each time I passed by.
I’m from dolls and colored pencils,
from Boxerman and Robin.
I’m from the storytellers
and the musicians,
from living in the moment and not taking anything for granted.
I’m from fairytales and happily-ever-after endings,
an evolving princess in a magical world.
I’m from Ben and Lily,
Shabbat dinners with homemade matzo ball soup and challah.
From hayrides when the leaves begin to change and blueberry picking beneath the radiant sun,
and trips to the Green Mountain State as fireworks erupt amidst a darkened sky.
I am from the good and the bad, the ups and the downs, the laughter and the tears, the fun and the frustration, and the persistent and never-ending love,
that culminates into the person I am today and the person I strive to become.
by Isabel Boxerman
I am from stuffed animals,
from dress-up clothes and swing sets.
I am from wheelbarrow rides through an endless blanket of green.
I am from azalea bushes with an assortment of blooming flowers,
that would smile to me each time I passed by.
I’m from dolls and colored pencils,
from Boxerman and Robin.
I’m from the storytellers
and the musicians,
from living in the moment and not taking anything for granted.
I’m from fairytales and happily-ever-after endings,
an evolving princess in a magical world.
I’m from Ben and Lily,
Shabbat dinners with homemade matzo ball soup and challah.
From hayrides when the leaves begin to change and blueberry picking beneath the radiant sun,
and trips to the Green Mountain State as fireworks erupt amidst a darkened sky.
I am from the good and the bad, the ups and the downs, the laughter and the tears, the fun and the frustration, and the persistent and never-ending love,
that culminates into the person I am today and the person I strive to become.
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