“Poems of place contain the psychological and geographic maps we make of the worlds we know, think we know, and those we remember. “-Poet’s House, 2019, The Practice of Poetry: Writing Poems of Place with KC Trommer.
(KC Trommer is an award‑winning poet, curator, and collaborative artist whose work spans poetry, visual art, and community engagement.)
Ms. Wright, 7th Grade Group One
I am from listening to my favorite song
I am from watching shows
I am from sleeping peacefully
I am from talking nonstop
I am from waiting for my mom to finish looking at rings.
I am from the air rushing in
when the door is opened.
I am from my grandmother’s tasty food.
I am from the wooden bedframe
My dad built me.
I am from K-pop and classical.
I am from my mom and dad cooking.
I am from the TV that gets
Watch on.
I am from my pants and
T-shirts in my closet.
I am from the wooden bedbunk my family put together.
I am from the TV my grandpa always watches and the couch he always sits on.
I am from dribbling and playing with a dirtied ball.
I am from grains of fluffy, snow-white rice.
I am from the unbreakable bond between me and my siblings.
I am from the coolness of the dark
With the only comfort being the bed
And quietness that fills the room.
A cold breeze comes in through the window.
People’s footsteps make light thuds outside.
I am from the aroma of cooking food,
Set out bowls and utensils,
And the sound of the range hood.
People chatter,
The TV plays.
I am from the couch
Set in the middle of the room,
A table in the corner,
And the cold wooden floors.
Items are scattered.
I am from gossipers,
Early birds to night owls,
And confusion.
Some dislike one another,
Some are laid-back.
I am from crowds of people
And tall buildings.
Thousands of cars drive by or are parked.
A bunch of talking,
Sometimes yelling.
Ms. Wright, 7th Grade, Group Two
I am from my mother’s egg soup and fried rice
I am from the indie-rock and reggaeton
In the background
I am from the forks scraping on metal bowls
The jackets to hide my insecurities
And the fantasies I uncover deep in my books
The warm cotton shirts.
Chicago’s red lanterns.
And rice cooker steaming.
That is what I am.
That is what I’m from.
I am from my dads chinese braised fish
Running with my champion hoodies
With champion pants
Tasting ginger and green onions from the fish
I call home.
I am from my Mother’s mango crepe rolls,
From Saran wraps and plastic bags
From the smell of home, whenever plates are full
I am from the nightlamp embroidered with mini hearts
Shined the brightest,
But it seemed it had faded.
From the plastered wall.
I am from the four-tier shelf in the corner of my room,
Stacked with items, which I have forgotten about
I can’t recall the last time.
I am from the videos on YouTube
I used to watch with my sister,
From the remote covered in fingerprints
Ever since,
The channels had never been the same.
I am from the sofa my mom help set up.