Where I'm From: Childhood Memories from East Texas

I am from cotton hand-me-downs, hemmed to fit,

from Carnation powdered milk that stretched

what the milkman brought in glass bottles with wire handles,

and Nabisco Shredded Wheat in one big, sinewy biscuit

that filled our bowls and slowly softened to mush as we ate.

I am from racing to reach the black rotary phone first

when it rang, yelling with the rest, “I’LL GET IT!”

I am from the rambling green house whose multitude of window panes

overlooked spreading oaks dripping Spanish moss,

bright magenta azaleas, and the piles of soggy leaves

that broke our thrilling fall when we let go of the swinging rope

on a well-deserved break from raking that ample yard.

I’m from shelling peas and picking wild blackberries,

from baby-fine pageboys with too-short bangs,

from collecting coke bottles from ditches to trade in at the 7-Eleven

for Double Bubble gum with its tiny comic tucked inside.

I’m from Mildred and Claudia, from Laura Jane

and Frederick Thomas Carnes the Third.

I am from the business-before-pleasure’s

and the waste-not-want-not’s,

from five-dollar birthday gifts “for your college education.”

I’m from children’s choir and bell choir, MYF,

and doe-eyed Jesus with wavy brown hair.

I’m from “Way Down in Killarney” and “Look Away Dixieland,”

fried okra, tuna casseroles topped with cracker crumbs,

and homemade vanilla ice cream with summer peaches.

From 16-year-old Grandmother teaching in a one-room schoolhouse,

the whispers about her brother, the black sheep drunk,

and what Momma said we each looked like when we were born.

I am from the hum of the old black and gold sewing machine,

the smell of Grandfather’s pipe tobacco,

and waking from a nightmare to sneak into

the warm comfort of Momma’s bed.

I took root in the wet terra cotta

of the East Texas Big Thicket,

and, wherever else I journey,

my blood still smells of pine and clay.

April 2026

little Celeste, age 5

I've written this poem before. So have a LOT of other people! But the first person to write it was George Ella Lyon, a writer and teacher who wrote the original in 1993. She started using it as a prompt -- a kind of template -- for other writers and for students. Since then, thousands of people have written their own versions of this poem, and each one is absolutely unique. It's got to be in the thousands, because my new friend, Alyson Shelton, has been doing a podcast for five years doing nothing but having conversations with other people around their own versions of "Where I'm From" based on their own childhood memories. And she's up to 237 of these poems!

And guess who's #238?

I had so much fun doing this casual and meaningful conversation with Alyson on April 9th. You can check it out below.

And if you'd like to try writing your own "Where I'm From" poem, scroll down a little further to find a template you can use. Enjoy!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HsF1HuZd1CE

See the 17 minute video above -- or skip to 2:07 to just hear the poem!