Tag Archives: ideas of home

from

frompoem

I’m from long days spent laying in fields of tall grass.

I’m from hay and straw
and rubber boots
and more cows than people.
I’m from a long tree-lined laneway
canopy green in summer
where once my middle sister
challenged our dad
to a race and he ran so fast
it felt like magic.

I’m from a small black dog named Poncho
(the result of an inter-species tryst
between a French Poodle and a Mexican Chihuahua)
who loved to cuddle
but suffered terribly
at the sound of bursting balloons.
We discovered this fear
at my parents’ New Year’s Eve party
and I learned that people
could be divided into two categories:
People who wanted to pop more balloons
and those who wanted to help the dog.

I’m from Anne of Green Gables,
Harriet the Spy,
Little Women,
and Nancy Drew.
I come from the Vernon Public Library
where I’d sit on highly glossed hardwood
and read
until it was time to go home.
I could take out as many books as I wanted.
Librarians have always been my friends.

I’m from yellow and white checked curtains
on the windows of my 5th grade classroom.
I was always staring out the window.

I’m from my grandparents’ camper
and a trip to the Provincial Park at Fitzroy Harbour
with all seven grandchildren.
We assembled meals in the tiny kitchen
like playing house.
In the wavy heat of long afternoons
we walked barefoot in the river
and collected the roundest smoothest stones.

I’m from the hockey rink in Metcalfe
where my friends and I
witnessed the Jets and Hawks battle
and discussed important matters
like
which players were the cutest.

I’m from the epic bonfire at Diana’s house
the night we graduated from high school
and from toast and jam in the morning.
The last time we were all together.

I’m from novels as a food group
and early morning lectures
with professors who were once Jesuit priests.
I’m from figuring it out
later than most
that not everyone likes school.

I’m from the kind heart of a man
who carries an orange knapsack.

I’m from passports and visas and packing and moving and searching for things I already had.

I’m from salsa dancing and being mugged in Cali
and Christmas posadas in the hallways of school
and Mexican folk art and chilaquiles in San Miguel de Allende.
I’m from buying avocados at a market in Barcelona
where the woman always asked
what are you making
and
when will you make it?
I’m from cava and green olives.
I’m from tuk-tuks, phad thai and mango
and a South East Asian city of angels
where I’m a happier tourist
than a resident.

I’m from a land of extraordinary suns
rising over Mount Fuji.
I’m from Family Marts and the art of bowing
and eathquakes and tsunamis,
from courage and
the preservation of order
in times of immeasurable loss.
I’m from courtesy
and harmony
and Hello Kitty.

I’m from introversion
Instagrams
and taking risks.
I’m from the Internet
and writing novels.
I’m from long decadent talks about the meaning of life.

I’m from making and collecting art.

I’m from travels.
Pablo Neruda’s houses in Chile,
falling down houses in Valparaiso,
broke-down palaces of Budapest.
The golden light in Rome
and sexy green Cyprus trees in Tuscany.

I’m from Paris.
{Surely, in some other life, I must have lived there.}

I’m from luck, hard work and gratitude.
From hope.

Hope, long days, fields of tall grass.