Where I'm from

English. "Write a poem about where you're from based on George Ella Lyon's poem."

I am from chutney,

from soggy, spiced spinach and samosas.

from a house that reeks with the fumes of the same dishes

that they eat day in and day out

waxing and waning like the gentle breeze of the static July night

that carries the scent away through the gaping windows

I am from the forest behind the house

Lonely and green, yet still thriving

Echoing silent wishes to me in the still of the winter

And whispering songs to me

To rock my mind as it runs in circles

I am from Grandmee's yelping cries

of "Do you want egg?"

and from hushed mornings of "my sweetie appai"

as she slowly moves her papery hands to rest in my leathery palms

I'm from allergies and eyeglasses, aching ribs, heavy arms

ragged and wet coughs

muffled by the peace of the clinic at 8 am

I'm from the "be the smartest"s

and the "nothing less,"

From the declarations of "You are the best girl"

that faded as stealthily

as the anger that took their place crept upon me

from "Do better!" and "Smile some!"

and the pleading "You have great potential!" hiding under a thick accent and thicker sideburns

And I’m from just

not giving a damn anymore, really.

I'm from "Bismillah" and

"You'll come around someday"

And the endless verses

of foreign tongue

that I will recite on a whim

so that maybe I can at least try to fit in

I am from sticky flesh before the rain

and startled cats and empty lungs afterwards

the wet socks and the warm hugs that draw me

from one alien planet to the other

From dusty stuffed animals sitting on the shelf

and a million half-read books

on Geology, Anatomy, Biology, Chemistry...

My father's thirst for knowledge

and my mother's pressing standards

forcing me to forgo the musty books

focus on long division and

"Recite your alif baa for me.”

I am the initial elation of

“Yes, I made it”

Coupled with the realization of

weariness and shouts, the heat of anger
and exasperated demands in attempts to keep the peace

Then again, I am  “I love you,”

and “I love you too,”

as their frail arms wrap around my waist

Author's Note

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LQP4f5qXdKU
Pardon the audio. Cheap cameras and illnesses take a toll on quality.

Reviews

[Unspoken poet]

This is really good, I enjoyed this. Has depth in it...

[Lifeofbennard]

I loved this write.
I can definitely relate with the idea of parents with high expectations.
The words flowed nice and this was amazing.
Good job