I Come From

[Directions for the poem: 1 line for each of the five senses, and finish with a last line about an emotion.]

I come from seeing my parents and ornery cousins around my grandmother’s big kitchen table.
I come from the aroma of bacon and coffee from my mother’s kitchen each morning.
I come from the taste of wild – wild game and fish.
I come from the feel of a smooth gun stock in my hands as I follow my father though the river bottoms.
I come from the sound of my dad’s favorite singer – Jo Stafford – on the juke box at Polly’s Cafe.
I come from a childhood filled with love and support.

Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “I come from.” Hat tip to Beata Tsosie-Pena for this writing topic from her writing workshop at the Ghost Ranch Wisdom Sharing conference.

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Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

6 thoughts on “I Come From”

  1. I come from seeing big lazy snowflakes fall from a grey winter sky.
    I come from the smell of fresh lilac blooming in spring.
    I come from the taste of hamburgers cooked on the barbecue.
    I come from the feel of the cool water of the pool in summer.
    I come from the sound of rumbling thunder in autumn.
    I come from a country where one is grateful for four seasons.

  2. I come from seeing royal palm trees as they swung lazily in the night breeze.
    I come from the smell of the ocean as you walked down the boulevard along its seawall.
    I come from the taste of freshly cut sugar cane made into juice.
    I come from the feel of my father’s hand as he took mine while walking.
    I come from the sound of a week-long carnival prior to the Lenten season.
    I come from an island where, presently, freedom is a foreign concept to its inhabitants.

  3. I come from seeing the blue sky darken with the portend of fulsome monsoon.
    I come from smelling lush ears of long grain basmati ripening in the golden green fields.
    I come from hearing a fresh cob of corn being roasted over an open fire, crackling, sizzling popping and hissing.
    I come from tasting spicy pakoras with sweet tea on a wet rainy day.
    I come from feeling the calloused palms of my grandmother as she soothed my fevered brow with balms and whispered prayers.
    I come from a land that gave the concept of compassion, brotherhood, tolerance and nonviolence to the world

  4. I come from the salty taste of tears
    streaming down a child’s face.
    I come from headaches.
    Eyes squeezed tightly,
    Not enough to keep the world out.
    I come from lying in the dark.
    Listening.
    Hearing parents
    spit hatred at one another.
    I come from broken dishes and shattered dreams
    witnessed from the small space
    under the bedroom door.
    I come from burnt food and cigarettes.
    The stale smells of a joyless childhood.

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