Where I’m From
(After Ella Lyon)
by Nancy Reas
I am from pogo sticks
kangarooing
on stove-hot backyard concrete.
I am from metal roller skates
clamped onto my navy blue and white saddle shoes
clackiting down Hill Avenue,
jumping over sidewalk cracks
to save my mother’s back.
I am from hopscotch
with a pebble, or better yet,
a small keychain tossed
onto a square to be leapt over
like the Grand Canyon.
I am from pick-up- sticks,
lying flat on my belly
on the Chinese hooked rug,
eyes focused, hand steady,
ready to trounce my best friend.
I am from an asphalt playground
with white painted lines
for 4-square and dodge ball
where I left a streak of bloody skin cells
from knees and face
the day before Picture Day.
I am from quiet libraries
with solid oak tables and chairs,
tall sun-piercing windows,
summer reading clubs,
gold stars marking the map of the world
of books I’ve read.
I am from a musty, used book store
on Lake Avenue
twenty-five cents for a hard cover book
with someone’s name written in pencil in it,
my reward for a trip to the dentist.
I loved this poem, Nancy!
Sounds like we’re from the same place – loved this poem!
Your poem is not only a place, but also a time machine which reminds me, too, of the same long-ago days.
“Boys and girls together, me and Mamie O’Rourke…”