4 poems...

... three by my developmental comp students in response to this assignment (posted with students' permission).

Update: and one by me, also in response to the assignment. (Pi, I'm trying to be more brave!)

I am
by Christina Burns

I am the windy city, Austin Blvd., el trains, and subways.
I am Richmond, Bluegrass, the derby, and red dirt.

I am hula hoops, Barbie dolls, and sliding down the stairs in a suit case.
I am mud pies, hay rides, and climbing trees.

I am Italian beefs smothered in cheese and sweet peppers
Gyros with cucumber sauce, and jue-town with extra mustard.
I am beef hash, homemade jam, and sausages.

I am Marshill and Concord Baptist church,
Sunday mornings with hot combs, fluffy
socks and jellies.

I am "put up or shut up,"
"If you cry a river I'll either swim or drown,"
"Don't put all your eggs in one basket,"
and "Don't let the green grass fool ya."

I am the heart of the USA.
I am corner stores with 25 cent bags of chips and grape juices.

I am the best of both worlds.


It's me
by Leslee K. Green

It's me with Bobbie pins and corn rolls.
It's me with homemade jams and the Bible
on the table.
Music playing, my grandmother singing
the blues. My grandfather cutting potatoes, chewing
snuff.

It's me walking to the corner store to get
gryos and a peach Fago. It's me at the recreation center
swimming. It's me on St. Clair Ave with White Castle's up
the street.

It's me with my Aunt Easter (shut that noise up, girl).
It's me with Uncle U. B. and the barbeque in the back.
It's me combing Imogene's hair, Leroy out fishing.
It's me with my my mom Ernestine (you smelling yourself, girl).

It's me falling asleep on the davenport.
It's me (how ya'll doin?).
It's me in church singing Amazing Grace.

It's me with fried chicken, okra, and homemade
corn bread. It's me and grandmother cleaning chitterlings
(dang those stink).
It's me with ham hocks and black-eyed peas
and hot-dogs and baked beans.

It's me hiding under the porch.
It's me hiding in the truck.
It's me playing tag with my cousins, catching
lightning bugs.


I am From
by Kim Tenney

I am from hills and hollers,
and homes made of cornbread and brown beans.
From the creeks and the outhouses
and the flashlight to guide you at night.
I am from coal miners and homemakers,
Black lung and afghans.

I am from the race car driver,
a woman unafraid.
From the 15 year old steelworker,
determined to make his own way.
I am from beautiful stories and long lasting love.
From 18th birthday weddings
and 47 anniversaries.

I am from four children
raised by teams of two.
From my knight in shining armor
who carried me safely on his shoulders.
I am from just outside the Barbie Doll kingdom,
exiled by Goddess Zemadora.
From Lucy's psychiatry table,
where Baby Strong thought she could solve all your problems.

I am from scrapes and cuts, bleeding and bruising,
baseball bats and broken noses.
From a hundred hospital admissions
and countless surgical procedures.
I am from a bathroom in Tennessee,
long car trips and midnight adventures.

All of this and so much more.


I am from the scrap dough
by Deb

I am from the scrap dough,
cinnamon-speckled strips
baking in the oven with the broken door
held shut by her walking stick.

I am from the blood-red blooms on bleached cotton pillowcases,
delicate French knots
stitched by her gnarled hands.

I am from the thick brown beads she kissed
in the pews of St. Joe's,
head bowed.
Holy Mary, Mother of God.

I am from the chicken eggs cradled in her apron,
warm from the backyard coop.
From the dirt under her fingernails,
the dishrag on the oilcloth table,
the cash ledger in the back room.

I am from the grudge she held against
her sister

and then released
like a kite in the wind.

I am from the secret door that led to the room
she slept in alone

even though grandpa
was still alive.