Where I'm From-- my version of George Ella Lyon's poem

I’m from the piano in my living room,
from the music and melody.
I’m from the old, shabby couches,
(Placed proportionally,
opposite side from the TV)
I’m from the mirror, 
the clear reflection
whose face I remember 
staring at in the morning.

I’m from the mud under the cemented ground in the yard,
(Brown, lumpy
filled with the elements of Earth)
I am from the fruits grown in my garden,
delicious when freshly picked.
I’m from the swing set, 
run-down and tattered,
yet bringing back sweet	
and wistful memories of the past.

I’m from the neighborhood mailbox, 
beaten down and ragged.
I’m from the local Starbucks,
freshly brewed coffee.
From the dental clinic my father
worked hard to build.

I’m from my Uncle Benajir’s love, 
an unconditional and spoiling love.
I’m from Aunt Helena’s 
big mouthed personality,
causing trouble and anger amongst many.
I’m from the love and support from my cousins,
Rahat and Tasfia,
whose love has affected me greatly 
throughout my life.

I’m from the judgmentals 
and the backdated,
from the close minded and ignorant.
I’m from the Islam is the one true religion
and a Quran I have learned to read 
throughout my childhood. 
I’m from the Dates eaten
during Ramadan.
I’m from the fuchkas 
brought from Artesia,
the Indian market of California.
I’m from the biryanis,
the cultural grain 
of my ethnic group,
made especially for get-togethers.
	
In my closet are family albums,
filled with old pictures,
an array of familiar and unfamiliar faces
bringing about stories from the past.
I am from those memories --
stories about my long distant cousins
to my maternal grandparents --
I am from those memories.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2018




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Date: 8/9/2018 3:57:00 AM
Amazing work, Samara. Please don't stop, when PS writers do not notice your poem. I did not read George Ella Lyon's poem, but your poem is just superb, wonderful, evoking hidden worlds of flavor (Silk Road?). Dates of Ramadhan, even this Christian man tasted such get-togethers, and biryani. Bless your uncle, cousins
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