I Am From

I am from TV towers,

from Kitchener buns and fluorescent zinc cream.

I am  from the North wind and cracked footpaths.

(Pebbly, dusty and hard under bare summer-toughened feet)

I am from the fig tree,

leafy, complicated, secret, cool;

the kikuyu grass spongy, prickly and never  quite green.


I am from Tea at five and Works hard but drinks too much,

from Ann and Ernest and Sybil.

I am from job lists and Christmas baking

and pretending everything is OK.

From Do what I say and not what I do

and Careful of the popcorn husks.

I am from church on Sunday.

Jesus loves me this I know and singing comfort to myself.


I am from Wallaroo and Wondai, Pasties and Neapolitan ice cream.

The beloved daughter who traveled the world.

The lottery number father to Vietnam and the uncle who lucked out too.


I am from the top bedroom, the piano room and a box of old black and whites in a wooden box.

From letters and frames and an album on my bookcase with too few photographs

and which sometimes makes me cry.

I wrote this after reading Sarah’s post. The original poem in this format can be found here.


3 thoughts on “I Am From

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