Wednesday
Jun292011
Where I Was From When I Was Seven: Bearing Down Upon The Buoy
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
I was from a plastic rocking horse with vicious lips and peeling hooves strung up on springs, Hershey's chocolate topping in yellow tins, and baby dolls with nylon hair matted into tough clumps.
I was from the wooden shed tucked beneath a second story deck, its air heavy and cloying, filming my skin over with its sticky humidity and swaying webwork.
I was from the aggression of bright tulips, the planted sweet peas, the crunch of dry spring grass that battered my ears as I rolled down hills.
I was from family dinners and obstinance, from Herta and Cornelia and difficult aunts.
I was from nostalgia and denial.
I was from acceptance withheld and acceptance denied.
I was from the stolid watchfulness of Mennonites and their sudden bursts of laughter out of a secretive mother tongue.
I was from Alberta and the Dnieper, round watermelons with yellow flesh and stewed plums buried beneath thick dough and sweet, heavy cream.
I was from the broken bone of the brother I forgot, the lawn that caught his fall, and the grandmother who believed.
I was from cupboarded photo albums, the worn edges of a rose-handled serving spoon, and childhood drawings filed in the back of a metal cabinet.
I was from these depths of covert love, an impulse at once held close and pushed into corners, a tug-of-war balance struck between a conservative safety and a violent adherence, the weight of salvation bearing down upon the buoy.
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George Ella Lyons' poem called "Where I'm From" inspired Fred First Floyd's form, which I discovered via Sweetney.
If you write your own version of the form, come back and link to it here. I'd love to see what it inspires.
I was from the wooden shed tucked beneath a second story deck, its air heavy and cloying, filming my skin over with its sticky humidity and swaying webwork.
I was from the aggression of bright tulips, the planted sweet peas, the crunch of dry spring grass that battered my ears as I rolled down hills.
I was from family dinners and obstinance, from Herta and Cornelia and difficult aunts.
I was from nostalgia and denial.
I was from acceptance withheld and acceptance denied.
I was from the stolid watchfulness of Mennonites and their sudden bursts of laughter out of a secretive mother tongue.
I was from Alberta and the Dnieper, round watermelons with yellow flesh and stewed plums buried beneath thick dough and sweet, heavy cream.
I was from the broken bone of the brother I forgot, the lawn that caught his fall, and the grandmother who believed.
I was from cupboarded photo albums, the worn edges of a rose-handled serving spoon, and childhood drawings filed in the back of a metal cabinet.
I was from these depths of covert love, an impulse at once held close and pushed into corners, a tug-of-war balance struck between a conservative safety and a violent adherence, the weight of salvation bearing down upon the buoy.
----------------------------
George Ella Lyons' poem called "Where I'm From" inspired Fred First Floyd's form, which I discovered via Sweetney.
If you write your own version of the form, come back and link to it here. I'd love to see what it inspires.
Reader Comments (23)
love this. so many amazing lines, and some relatable content too. Thanks for writing and posting this!
Gorgeous. Best of these I've seen, bar none. Now I'mma go back and read it again.
"I was from the stolid watchfulness of Mennonites and their sudden bursts of laughter out of a secretive mother tongue."
Perfect. Hit me in my childhood and knocked the wind out of me.
This feels like a picture slipped from a photo album, a peek inside the hand-me down recipe box, a whiff of linen cupboard. This is gorgeous, hard, sweet, broken, and mended. Mended in particular because of your choice to use "was". You are from all this and have become so much more. xo
Excellent. I've posted mine and linked back. Was really a discovery of sorts.
Thank you.
I love yours! I linked mine up, too.
I also meant to say that "Bearing down upon the bouy" is outrageously gorgeous imagery. You're a very talented writer.
I wish I hadn't started reading these because they're all so damned good, I'm never going to do my own.
Amazing, as usual, Schmutzie. You truly are amazing.
holy crap ,this is beautiful
I love the way these connect us and set us apart. Beautiful.
Love the visual imagery.
This is one of the most beautiful things I've read in a long time. It rattled around in my head for almost a week until I knew I could write one of my own. I'm hoping your title means that you will write other ones, for older yous.
i can smell the crunch of that dry spring grass.
Every time I read your writing, I'm struck anew by how beautiful and tangible it is.
I've been in love with this little meme for a long, long time. And yet every time someone new discovers it, or someone re-discovers it, I find myself utterly in awe of the power of words and the beauty of people. Yours is just lovely. Lovely.
Thanks so much for doing this. This is a great meme, and I'm loving everyone's poems.
I love the idea of, "childhood drawings filed in the back of a metal cabinet." I don't know why, but that line really resonated with me.
This is a beautiful way to share your story and explore your roots.
Thanks for the link up -- now, off to read the rest!
Thank you so much for sharing this. I appreciate it more than words can say!
I love "acceptance withheld and acceptance denied". Me too.
I love all ther versions of this. Thanks for compiling the links!
I'm from Meijer, where my mother shops ALL the time
I'm from nowhere since my parents move ALL the time
I'm from the big gash wound in my mother's stomach
I'm from the Playstation 3, sweaty Judo mat, the couch with dirty butt marks, a bother who speaks non-sense, and a DVD that goes my Xbox.
attention: the comment above mine is MADE OF WIN.