This was my first week back at Perez since last Spring and I was so excited to meet Ms. Murray’s 5th grade class. I started off our ten week residency the way I always like to, by asking students what they think poetry is and some of the things it can do. Then we started by reading a poem “Where I’m From” by a former 8th Grade Perez student, Amorosa. I love starting off my workshop series with this exercise at every grade level. It’s a great way for students to see that they already have stories inside them, and that they already have the skills to write something rich with imagery and specific to their experience. This is a class FULL of writers, and I can’t wait to see what they create over the next 10 weeks. It was hard to pick this week’s poems because there were so many really amazing pieces. Congrats to Braden and Maelynn on getting your awesome poems published!
Where I Come From
Braden, 5th Grade
Where I come from, there are many
people that greet me while I walk down
the street, young and elderly.
Where I come from, I smell sweet
Fabuloso, of which me and my mom clean,
and the tasty neighborhood food trucks
that sell burgers and tacos.
Where I come from, I can drive
and see many good restaurants.
Where I come from. I love hearing
the loud cars and trains that come by.
It’s like they’re telling me to stay
awake
Where I come from, I can touch
the tall gates in my neighborhood.
Where I come from, I can greet my
neighbor. What are they doing?
Where I come from, I hope people drink
and argue less. Where I come
from, there are many things that
have happened and things to do.
My Home
Maelynn Yanez, 5th Grade
I live in West Englewood,
where every morning that I step outside,
my eyes fall on the big and old
building across the street, and
the really large lot next door.
When I breathe, my lungs fill
with the faint scent of car
gas and the strong scent of plants
and soil and nature.
I can taste the spicy dynamites
in my mouth, and the bubbliness
of the coke as well. I
hear the firing gunshots on
some nights, and the faint whistling
of the wind on others.
I can feel the rough brick of
the buildings as well as the cool
metal of the gates, tall and short.
Every day, I see the same old
man walking on the sidewalk.
I hope that someday
West Inglewood can get to become
a safer and better place.