(Anna's poem from English class this fall -- modeled after a sample provided by the teacher, but pretty impressive for a student who's still an "English-Language-Learner," and the details she chose are all her own . . . )
I am from the green grass,
from trees and the smell of spring.
I am from the river that seems to run faster every day.
Clearly and noisily.
It feels as if the clouds are falling like the drizzle.
I am from the grime in the hilly garden,
with the long sweet sugar cane
whose juice is as sticky and sweet as I would like it.
I am from Bonithe and Jeff.
From whip cream and hair styling.
I am from hiding it all and scripting it down.
I am from heat and avoid the cold.
I am from "Boo!" here and "Boo!" over there.
I am from moments my mind fell asleep
throughout school periods for two years,
and several books I can read myself.
I am from Jeremie,
From homemade cacao and fresh mangoes.
I am from the eye my grandfather lost
into the night,
the laughter and song he entertained me with.
Inside my desk is a sachet filled with fine, sad pictures
of where I come from,
a cluster of wonders and smiling faces
to drift in memories.
I am from those moments,
wondered before I let it happen.
Rain falls with consent to raise the crops
the family planted.
At this time of year, let us give at least a moment of pause for all those in Haiti (and abroad) who mourn the loss of family and others important in their lives due to the January 12, 2010 earthquake in Haiti. May there be healing for all those who were injured in body or in spirit. May all those displaced find home. May there be comfort, strength, and hope. Perhaps one way to commemorate the loss of life and the on-going struggle experienced daily by the people affected by that tragic natural disaster is to spend a day or more slowing down, if even a bit, all day long to register privately in our minds each thing, person, and happening for which we are (should be) thankful . . . maybe for the hot water coming out of the shower, or fresh, healthy milk for breakfast, or the ability to walk pain-free as we go about our business . . .
I am from the green grass,
from trees and the smell of spring.
I am from the river that seems to run faster every day.
Clearly and noisily.
It feels as if the clouds are falling like the drizzle.
I am from the grime in the hilly garden,
with the long sweet sugar cane
whose juice is as sticky and sweet as I would like it.
I am from Bonithe and Jeff.
From whip cream and hair styling.
I am from hiding it all and scripting it down.
I am from heat and avoid the cold.
I am from "Boo!" here and "Boo!" over there.
I am from moments my mind fell asleep
throughout school periods for two years,
and several books I can read myself.
I am from Jeremie,
From homemade cacao and fresh mangoes.
I am from the eye my grandfather lost
into the night,
the laughter and song he entertained me with.
Inside my desk is a sachet filled with fine, sad pictures
of where I come from,
a cluster of wonders and smiling faces
to drift in memories.
I am from those moments,
wondered before I let it happen.
Rain falls with consent to raise the crops
the family planted.
At this time of year, let us give at least a moment of pause for all those in Haiti (and abroad) who mourn the loss of family and others important in their lives due to the January 12, 2010 earthquake in Haiti. May there be healing for all those who were injured in body or in spirit. May all those displaced find home. May there be comfort, strength, and hope. Perhaps one way to commemorate the loss of life and the on-going struggle experienced daily by the people affected by that tragic natural disaster is to spend a day or more slowing down, if even a bit, all day long to register privately in our minds each thing, person, and happening for which we are (should be) thankful . . . maybe for the hot water coming out of the shower, or fresh, healthy milk for breakfast, or the ability to walk pain-free as we go about our business . . .
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