I am from books and running shoes,
from Jack Daniels and powdered milk.
I am from the shot-heard-round-the-world bridge and the kettle hole pond,
from leafy freedom and feral suburbia.
I am from the bottom of the pig pile,
kill the guy with the ball,
bloody knuckles and cops and robbers.
I am from “No, you can’t” and “because you’re a girl.”
I am from mandolin tremolos and chef’s knives,
from Mariano and Edith, from Doreen and John,
from bombing evacuations and a gas oven left on.
I am from fish cakes n beans, franks n beans, beans n beans,
from trifle and marmite.
I am from archipelagos twice over and settler colonialism times three,
from memories and mementos lost in family stories not to be told.
5 thoughts on “Where I’m From (jean)”
I love your poem, and now I think I know you a little better.
Hi Jean! Thank you for sharing your poem. I appreciate having a model to help with this assignment. And thanks for clarifying what you meant by the line: “I am from the bottom of the pig pile”…I had no clue! Very creative!
What a pleasure to read. Feral suburbia and mandolin tremolos really speak to me.
This is really good. Thanks, Jean. Seems you’re as good a poet as you are a poem-picker.
Audio of poem