By: Jasmine Espinoza. Surrounded by tired eyes. A physiological tactic. I am from the large butter-yellow house, warm and welcoming. An emptiness settled over me, like none I have ever felt. I'm from green grass full of love, full of anger, full of trust.
Sandwich is sangwich McDonald's is Mugg Donald's Ask is ax. Another group of five…so truly themselves, so much a part of a larger theme…we are all from somewhere, something…each have our town take on that phrase. I am from analog radio receiver, from Marlboro 100's cigarettes and Zig-Zags. As politely as I could, having had a weapon just pointed at me, I screamed at him to properly transport his weapon. From the Father and Mother who both tried to fulfil their duties. I am from the Bamileke people of Cameroon, West Africa and the enslaved woman whose name I do not know. I am made from an assortment of places, things, and people which makes me who I am. Thats hysterical to a texter video. With extreme jet lag, To study a subject. And moments that will always stay in my heart. "For cryin'out loud, quit acting ugly, hold your horses, Mind your manners, well ain't that just hunky dory?
I am from 5 people and a dog in a one bedroom. The trails in Theodore Wirth park. From the good genes to the bad one. From Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. And chased butterflies. I am from Camping and Kindness, from laughter and grief and stories of the past. I am from D & D, in another world. From that place of nothingness into the bright glare of being.
A third culture, that embraces. As well as the many unknown flags flowing in my veins. By Maristella M. I am from ugoslavia, from our heavenly Lady of the Rosary. I am from a bad habit of my phone to appreciating nature after dinner. Singing with friends.
Where I learned to live peacefully lying on a hay-bale. I'm from the guys who run to lunch. I'm from Hilton Head. I am the buckets of barrets to bead pony tails. Ambition is above your raising. I am from by Nancy Kissam. From the crickets in my backyard and the geese in my neighborhood pond. A golden cross linked with a glossy chain. I am from a dying language where landscape holds names like Spinc na Bhfuileog. I am from a farming community in Freeland Michigan. Go out and get three weirder things to balance them. Acres of corn-on-the-cob. I'm from the warmth of a hug. Thats hysterical to a texter movie. I am from the special food that our family would eat together, The special vacations that we would go on together, so memorable that I feel like I am still there.
I am from the Mens Den, where the smell of fresh cuban cigars echo across the walls. I am from family game nights, laughter echoing. Throw them up if you hate the game. Grandparents' house. Communication … with and without words. It'll, glistening, coldness. Heavenly instrument? I'm from days of prophecy pie and fear of the Lord.
I say words that mean I will love and trust you forever. From the jackal and the bluebird, the crow and the eagle. Turn the lights back on. Loved by all, From the howling wind. The smallest state in the U. S. I am from Poem. From all the infinite exercises against the wall.
We finally moved to town and there we got spoiled. I am from Saturday afternoons in the sun surrounded by bugs buzzing and breeze blowing. Have standing showers and not tubs and moved into one myself. I'm from Elkton and a mystery european nation. I'm from hot dog birthdays and strong women, from Mutt and Red Blanket.
Morals and mores of these people. Even on Mondays, I would sleep as long as I want, like a bear in hibernation. Its foolishness and my formation. I am from jerk chicken, patswa and family traditions. I am from looking at the stars in the sky, seeing things fly up in the sky. From 40 minutes bus rides.
The tests of muscle and stamina that set a life course of participation and competition. I am from cherry blossoms and weeping willows, posing for pictures in my flowered kimono. I hope to be remembered as someone. Poems from: Catherine, Victor, Eliana, K. C., Colin, Sadhana, Eric, Varsha, Chase, Mary, Max, Riya!
The thin line of dust gathering above the window. With a trace of middle eastern blood in my veins. Again this poem carries us around the world. And procrastinating in my bed crouched. "You should be like her".
I'm from a line of cooks as my brother complains.