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Wednesday, 2 September 2015

bits of braeside

In my grade 7 English class students read "Where I'm From," a poem by George Ella Lyon. The poem is basically random scraps of memory from her childhood -- different sights, sounds, tastes and feelings. Together, they make an interesting picture. Students have to write their own "Where I'm From" poem, and it's always interesting to read what they share.

I've done this for three years, but haven't written my own yet! Last night lying in bed I decided to do my own English assignment and write a poem about summers as a kid at Braeside camp. It was fun to remember the details, and each one brought back even more memories!


Where I'm From

I am from the churning of pedals
Rubbing of bicycle wheels on the grass.
From the endless Pool Hill and
Riding with no hands
From fresh red scrapes and
Wrinkled white spots
The scars we wore like medals.

I am from one-piece bathing suits and
Slippery brown bathroom tiles.
From pool noodles as horses and
Swirling rounds of ankle tag
From warm puddles on concrete and
Cold cannonball splashes
Wet shadows stretched out and
Disappearing in the sun.

I am from powdery sidewalk chalk
Bumps on my knees
Creaking of swing chains and the
Thump of shoes on park sand.
From Fudgsicles fringed in ice and
Small cuts in the corners of mouths
Sucking the last juice from
Rolled-up Freezies.

I am from tan lines and
A riot of freckles
From bleeding, wrinkled toes.
I am from knotted hair shaded
Green
And streaked white by the sun.
From thin legs stretching from shorts and
Sandals left at the door.

I am from dripping ice cream cones
And sticky marshmallows
Tasting of smoke
From burgers and buns and
Crackling candies --
Fireworks in my mouth.
From paper bag penny candies and
Cereal bowls on the porch.  

I am from contests
From hold-your-breath to
Mouths stuffed with sour candies to
“I see Braeside first!”
I am from watching the big kids and
Beating the little kids –
The middle ones know the taste of
Winning and losing.

I am from the pop of a bonfire
The spell of the
Jumping orange flames.
From “White rabbit! White rabbit!”
To drowsy jokes and secrets
From pit after pit
Circles of murmured conversation and
Separate memories
Flecks of fire
Sprinkled under the stars. 

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