A writing exercise based on this poem by George Ella Lyon. Hope you enjoy my plucky attempt. :)
I am from hot rocks and thorns,
from Saguaros and monsoon dust.
I am from brown carpet and rust-red brick.
(Full moon shining through open vertical blinds
a witness to coyotes’ unholy rejoicing).
I am from the caterpillar I ate when I was 4,
and the tunnels under our three rows of corn,
from the mulberry tree’s lowest limb
with a peanut-butter bucket on a string
for my servant sister to fill.
I am from Hop on Pop and Rush Grush,
from Nancy and Jim.
I’m from the homemade bread on Saturday nights
and mariachi pancake mornings,
from “Talk nicely” and ya-gotta-get-up reveille.
I’m from Oh, Carden, we love thee,
from warm water covering my white dress,
the name of God resonating distantly familiar.
I’m from Lester and Ella’s branch,
Sky-blue eyes and hands that mirror mine.
From Christmas Eve piñatas as we shivered barefoot.
Sunday night British Bulldogs.
Outside my bedroom window are hard blue mountains.
Under my feet solid desert rock.
I am from the warm foothills