I suggest you do this exercise yourself before leading a group. That will open up possibilities and perhaps show you ways you want to adapt the process..."

By Meg Corbett

I am from reading glasses strewn next to 

index-card grocery lists and smiley faces

I am from sticky popsicles in the summertime as the oak tree’s shade

offers respite

I am from In-and-Out lottery tickets and a basketball-hoop with no backboard

I am from Kate, Joe, Riley, Dj, and Piki

I am from “be safe” and “make good decisions” 

I am from pumpkin bread batter and yellow cake with chocolate icing

I live in painted ballerina jewelry boxes who’s melody

I still hum

Kate Kelly

December 2013 (edited 2021)

I am from the old rickety fence in the overgrown field, 

smelling of hay and fresh grass,

from the tilted pine tree,

and the black creek, filled with unknown creatures

I am from Nini’s Sunday Brunch,

and family get togethers,

from Barbara and Leo,

and Kelly ancestors

I am from a move up north,

loud family soccer games,

and freezing ski trips.

I am from both Texas and New Hampshire,

An identity defined by compassion,

I am from varied experiences,

That help develop my passions

I am from the vintage trunk in my parents bedroom, 

my grandma’s dusty desk drawers stuffed with photos and cards,

from photo albums, videos, and little gifts remembering life long ago

I am from many houses but only one home.

I am from packed bags and taped-up boxes.

I am from Dollar Tree and Public Parks,

And Mr. Sloan’s office with the tray of blue sand.

I am from the corner of the attic

That smells of old books and locked-away memories.

I am from “fend for yourself” meals

And the pause before my mother says,

“I thought Mike was picking you up.”

I am from cleats that smell like “Käsefüße,” 

From echoes of acoustic guitar at night

And trash bags filled with toys.

I am from the shadows of some

And the pedestals of others.

But mostly, I am from Icarus and Atlas, 

And the flight of a Sparrowhawk. 

From the days we choose to walk in the light. 

I am from floors scattered with babydolls,

Alice the Fairy opened to a colorful spread, 

And crayons of the colors Happy Birthday strewn across the table.

I am from a dollhouse with a screen door,

Open to porch steps worn and grass polka-dotted

From games of Big Bad Wolf and Kick the Can.

I am from the collective of a cul-de-sac,

With neighbors akin to family 

And an army of mothers cascading at a moment's notice.

I am from Maureen, from the care and fashion of Alice. 

From the warning of “Santa better be good to you girls.”

I’m from the slowly growing aroma of sauce and meatballs on the stove.

And the joy of flour-kissed cheeks

Donned after batches of sugar cookies. 

From the albums under the TV, 

Brought to life by unprofessionally-directed home videos. 

And kept alive through fond moments of reminiscing. 

All of which, show I’m from a place,

Marked by the sign above the kitchen sink,

Where “A happy childhood lasts forever.”

But are separated all at the same time.

I am from my halmeoni's and harabeoji's two family home in Staten Island.

The one they still live in today.

I barely visit now, going to college so far away.

But that's what they always wanted,

an education and a life for me, away!

I am from that house that smells like kimchi, kalbi, tteokbokki, all the other foods I love.

I am from my mimi's nail salon in Manhattan, her pride and joy. I am from the fresh watermelon, pears, and apples, she cut on a hot summers day.

I am from my mother and my father, who worked so hard for me to be here today!

And the other side, its so different, but its also me, all the same!

The McManus Funeral Home in Brooklyn,

Irish Catholics, from NY.

But both sides of me started somewhere in this country, the one that stole me from my original homes, all but one or two generations ago!

I am from messy floors full of American Girl dolls, dress-up clothes, and ballet shoes.

I am from a cul-de-sac where I learned to rollerblade and ride my bike,

A cul-de-sac where I played with my neighbors who no longer live there,

A cul-de-sac that was the last place I saw my friend before he passed away,

A cul-de-sac filled with so many laughs, tears, scrapped knees.

I am from "Wait which child are you again"

And a relief from my mother as she says, "I am happy all four of my children are home for the holidays."

I am from grandma's bad scrapbooks filled with random but hilarious pictures, pottery left on my mother's desk, baby photos of all four of us children on the mantle.

I am from people who love me and never let me forget the happy, loving childhood I grew up with.

with grandiose landscaping on top of the hill

A freezer perpetually stocked with 32 sticks of butter

The lilac bushes and

The Walnut tree

Whose walnuts I would collect in a wagon

every other summer.

I am from from an escape of East Germany,

One blanket and a trip to Ellis Island.

I am from the don’t cry in public

And the wake ups at 7am for Sunday mass

The decision I made in second grade to become a teacher and explore the world.

I am from dozens of pointe shoes that hang lifeless

Once alive from a mini Soviet Russia

15 minutes away from the red brick house

I am from hard working and selflessness

With hair so slicked back my scalp bled.

I am from ‘I Love Lucy’

Led Zeppelin, Van Halen, and Bob Marley

Garage sales

Thrift stores

The trinkets my grandma brought every time she saw me

Soccer on Saturdays

And tacos on Tuesdays.

I am from those moments in the big red brick house

And an upstairs hot pink bedroom called mine.

- Faith Drescher

- Ian Yu

From lilacs and milkweed,

the ones that attract the most beautiful butterflies.

I am from my mother, just like these flowers.

Planted in Spring, blooming in Summer.

I am from honey bees.

From trips to my neighbor's hive,

and from "don't worry, bee stings are good luck"

I am from early-morning watering cans and late-night sprinklers.

From weeding and mulching,

and worms. Lots and lots of worms.

I am from the place only poets write about.

Where the biggest news story covers a broken traffic light.

I am from flowers,

From sunshine and sunshowers,

leaving behind the most beautiful rainbows.

by Nicolas Farrell

I am from shared birthdays

two chocolate cakes, double-stacked bunk beds, 

and matching faces requiring no mirror

I am from weekend cartoons in the living room

a bowl of sugary cereal in my lap 

and my brown labradoodle sleeping on the couch

I am from the Stone Harbor ocean, 

born in the New Jersey sand like a shell, 

unbroken by waves, amongst the cool 

breeze and salty air 

I am from splashes of bright color and 

infinite words, line after line of poetic prose,

the songs are silent in my ears, but I hear a beautiful chorus between them

I am from Korea, my blood runs with pride

my tongue tastes like the foods:

the bulgogi, the gimchi, the gimbap

a feeling of home and love

I am from the woods behind my 

grandmother’s Pennsylvania home

from the streams and creeks

I carry shiny pebbles in my pockets 

and swing around stick swords with my brother

like we are knights in a suit of leaves

I am from this.

From the humidity of the coming rainy season.

I come from the eyes of my parents.
From their East-Asian, subtle and ambiguous love:
Every kiss and hug.
Every unspoken "I love you".
Or the occasional silence and tears.

I come from a dark-colored door.
Behind which lies the delusion of late-night self-talk.
Words written in my native language.
And things I'll probably never tell anyone else.

I am from a multitude of places that I call home 

I am from India, from the smell of paneer and hugs from Aaji, Aaba, and Aazoba 

I am from hanging clothes on the clothesline, the smell of incense, and the banging of drums 

I am from the red tilak on my forehead and barefooted feet in the grass 

I am from generations of hardworking people, of teachers, of doctors, of people who look out for others 

I am from Ohio, from wind sweeping across my face and children running through flowers 

I am from a big brick house on Abbyshire Drive, from my brother tackling me in the backyard to reading books on top of the treehouse 

I am from a red farm with horses that came out in the Fall and Spring 

I am from nature and from rolling down a hill, covered in weeds and dirt and all things beautiful 

I am from a place where everyone treats each other like family

I am from the laughter of many 

I am from Massachusetts, where my family settled down

I am from the Indian immigrants of Needham and the parties until 2 am that never seemed to die down 

I am from the classrooms of many schools, with children whose faces I have never forgotten 

I am from music - from the piano, the cello, the base, and from the sounds of my brother and mother singing

I am from dance, from Kathak, from the dance studio and my calloused feet 

I am from the lamps, lights, and love at 46 Rockwood Lane 

I am from the ocean, my constant sanctuary 

I am from the waves on the horizon and the enveloping of the water around my soul

I am from the salt in my lungs and the droplets against my fingertips 

I am from sand against my feet, the ocean floor, from a place that soothes my worries 

I am from a multitude of places that I call home 

I am from jina langu ni Natalie, evolving to a simple "I'm Natalie,"

I am from the belief that "it takes a village to raise a child," born into a family of high achievers,

I am from the complexities of troubled American assimilation,

I am from the pursuit of all A's and the pressure to surpass the achievements of generations before me,

I am from the sidelines, cheering on Kenyan runners at the Boston Marathon, prideful of the roots that ground me in the country I call home.

I am from moving miles away to simply get a quality education,

I am from tirelessly speaking up for the black population at my predominantly white high school,

I am from the sound of basketballs bouncing in the YMCA,

I am from the challenge and exhilaration of participating in youth triathlons every year until I was 16,

I am from a tapestry woven with threads of tradition, achievement, activism, and personal growth.

I am from half-done art projects, hangers, rocks, and puzzle pieces strewn about the house.

I am from the ocean of the yard in March and seaweed and sand still in the grass in May.

From the chalk on the driveway to bikes in the garage, a place between two lighthouses.

I am from Matt and Jimmy and Becca.

From wicked waters and calm harbors filled with mushrooms and Balls to the sweet corn in the rolling hills of Iowa.

I am from the stamp on the letter, the post office box, and the signature with a heart.

From Mom pizzas to O'Malley's honey mustard and the salty smell of the breeze on the front porch.

I am from nightly sunsets on the seawall and cruises with my chosen family on the boat. Crabbing on the jetty with hot dogs and sea glass hunts to pushing each other off the paddle board.

I am from a town with Irish pride and roots tied to the bottom of the ocean.

The sounds of riding mowers, the scent of sweating, bleeding grass fighting the deep, seedy diesel smoke.

The reliable pump of a music’s mechanical breath.

I am the unfinished, forgotten line.

The plastic imprinted with the Lego trademark.

I am late night video sessions, personal movie showings.

I am cold and sweaty palms, tender from nail and skin overgrazing.

I am properly margined 12-Point Times New Roman.<-Ironic

I am grandmother’s Hobo Bean recipe without the lima beans.

I am cold blinking thoughts swept clean through by the glittering glassy dust of novel splendor.

I am clever word play.

I am untouched glassware.

I am childhood art projects collecting dust.

I am framed in plastic and wood and metal.

I am the moving water.

I am motherly pride, fatherly disappointment.

I arise through trembling boldness.

I am sorry.

I am the windowless hallway littered with old clothes and stuffed toys.

I am lonely.

I am crying for people who never existed.

I am proper grammar with incorrect synonyms.

I am craft mac and cheese.

I am the laminated albums of youthful parents.

I am missing from my life.

I am the wrong format.

I am from sorrowful enjoyment.

I will yet emerge from myself.