On the last day of summer school, I had my students write “Where I’m From” poems, which emulated George Ella Lyon’s. Given that they were only an hour away from receiving their report cards and being done with summer school, my students, for the most part, had trouble focusing on the task. But a few did take the task seriously. Here’s one by ER:
Where I’m From (poem)
I’m from the hands of
a single mother.
I’m from a family
I can’t trace.
I’m from a family of two brothers
and a dad without a face.
I’m from the smell
of cigarettes and beans
and rice everyday.
I’m from the time where teens
are criminals and have a price to pay.
I’m from a place I don’t want to be,
I’m from a place where things get old,
I’m from a place that’s not me,
I’m from a place where I do what I’m told.