I've been encountering this in Blogsville (everywhere!) lately, and I decided to take on the assignment. And it was a lot of fun. I suppose it's a little like a meme, but a high-quality one. It definitely makes you think. My first glimpse of this was on Verbatim's blog, and it apparently started with Fred at Fragments from Floyd. The following is his introduction to the "assignment". (Are you curious yet?)
George Ella Lyons is an Appalachian author and poet with a long list of children's books to her credit. Her poem, Where I'm From, begins in this way: "I am from clothespins, from Clorox and carbon-tetrachloride. I am from the dirt under the black porch. (Black, glistening it tasted like beets.)" Each of us is from a place that is more than a dot on the map. Every experience that we can recall has left its mark on who we are. Nobody is from Clorox, but can't you smell the laundry room at the poet's house as a little girl?
I'd like to make a suggestion-- not just to the 'writers' who read this, but to everyone. Actually, putting on my teacher hat: this is your assignment: Read the original poem [below] -- Then, write your own version-- where you're from. You might be surprised what you find as you rummage around in those dusty old trunks--your personality, your family history and traits, and the places you've called home--as you complete the poem with your own memories and facts. It will be interesting to see the small, peculiar things we each select to define where we are from.
The original poem is on the left, my version is on the right (click for larger version):
Your turn!