This is the Open Write, a place for educators to nurture their writing lives and to advocate for writing poetry in community. We are here every month. The next Open Write is January 17-19, 2026.
Our Host
Gayle lives in a small town near the Maryland line south of Gettysburg, PA. She taught middle school English and Reading Resource for 27 years in Carroll County, MD schools, retired during Covid, and soon “de-retired”. She currently has the best part-time retirement job ever as Professional Development Liaison between McDaniel College’s Education Department and the Carroll County School System. She supervises pre-service education students as they experience the real world of teaching. When not driving around listening to audiobooks and checking in with student interns, she supervises a motley crew of three small, loud dogs and four cats (of varying sizes and ages), spoils her grandchildren, and appreciates her husband of 47 years. She feels very lucky.
Inspiration
( I am composing this in late May–not exactly winter holiday inspiration weather. I’ll do my best…)
You can’t go wrong with the old standby, the “I Am From” poem. It is versatile and easy to adapt to various writing purposes. This form depends upon sensory details taken from a person’s life and provides a window into the senses. This seems like the time of year to look back and remember.
Process
For some examples of “I Am From” poetry, check out the following websites:
The holidays are the source of some of my strongest memories. Growing up just south of Buffalo, we were guaranteed a white Christmas every year. I have written about the one we celebrated–Christmas. There are many seasonal holidays to choose from–the Winter Solstice, Hanukkah, Yalda festival in Iran, China’s Dongzhi festival, Juul, or Yule in Scandinavia, Kwanzaa, New Year’s Eve, Three Kings Day, Chinese New Year, Las Posadas, or Diwali. Select a holiday that is meaningful to you. Allow us to experience an aspect of that celebration. Start with a list of ideas/memories of your holidays. Extract the essence of those memories. engage all the senses and immerse yourself–then share it with us.
Of course, you do not have to write about a seasonal holiday. You may choose to write about another day that is important to you. This is your place to write and remember, so do not feel limited to any one holiday or season.
Mine grew longer than I intended–and I apologize for that. I couldn’t stop writing once I started. Yours can be short, long, rhymed or unrhymed. Just let it be a memory you hold dear.
Gayle’s Poem
I Am From
I am from
snowdrifts and raw winds
blowing across Chautauqua Lake,
rattling the windows of our tiny house.
I am from a Christmas tree we cut from the woods out back,
crisp with the scent of pine, citrusy and sharp.
The cat has explored it, searching for the critters we left outside in the snow.
I am from
Early Christmas morning with Santa’s gifts beneath the tree,
Mom is making hot chocolate with a marshmallow hat,
the smell of coffee and cigarette smoke in the air as my dad wakes up
We tear open the gifts, amazed that Santa has again come through for us.
My grandparents (always dismayed at Santa’s abundance)
come from next door to bring practical gifts to round out the morning.
Then Christmas begins…
I am from
Frenzied preparation
for the family Christmas
last-minute gift-wrapping,
hair-curling,
dress-pressing,
shoe-searching
coat-grabbing and
car-packing–with a gift for each member
of our 25-person extended Keopka family.
I am from
A group of small, sturdy German women in aprons,
buzz around the farmhouse kitchen.
Two huge tables, set with holiday china, await.
A fire crackles in the hearth.
The men sit at one table; the women and children sit at the other.
The food is passed around…
ham and turkey,
mashed potatoes and gravy,
homemade bread,
four different vegetable casseroles,
three kinds of pie for dessert. (And of course, coffee.)
I am from
The meal’s ending,
signaled as Uncle Herman ceremoniously takes one last slice of bread,
pours rich turkey gravy over it, and mops his plate.
I am from
Waiting–a very long time, to my child’s mind,
for the women chattering as they clean the kitchen,
as the old men doze in the living room
A Christmas tree, ceiling high, fills the room.
Boxes and baskets of homemade gifts
form a four-foot deep wreath of temptation around the glistening tree.
We wait, knowing that no gift can be touched.
until the last dish is put away and the aprons hung to dry,
I am from
A gift mountain of woven rag rugs, knitted hats,
homemade clothes, tatted doilies,
and home-canned food.
Something for everyone, from every family.
We children distribute the gifts.
The mountain shrinks and evolves,
spreading out into the family surrounding the tree.
(I have taken my book and moved to the stair landing to read.)
We thank and hug and pack the car.
As the day darkens,
we drive home through the snow.
I am from…
This memory, this time, this place.
I hold it carefully, for it is a shining keepsake
that glows more brightly over time.
Although it is no more, it is a part of me.
Gayle Sands
5-26-25
Your Turn
Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may choose to use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers.
Gayle, thank you for hosting this weekend. I never want to miss the prompts, but today I only have this precious new life on my mind, so I wrote about him again. Thank you for your long and beautiful poem. Never too long to share such beauty and love–“shining keepsakes,” to be sure.
I am from
birthing a baby days before Christmas 34 years ago
and a new grandson birthed days before this Christmas
I am from holding that new one today
as my daughter said, “You know you carried him too.”
Congratulations, Denise. I’m so happy for you and your family. What a lovely sentiment expressed in your poem.
Oh, Denise, such a joy to hold a newborn. Congratulations and Merry Christmas to you all! ❤️
Gayle, nice twist on a classic form! Loved the beautiful imagery in your poem. 🙂
I am from a forest, wide –
waiting just to come inside
a warm, bright home, full of cheer:
Yule! My favorite time of year.
I am from tradition, deep
from nights of sleepless Christmas sleep.
from tinsel strewn with wild glee,
a gaudy, lovely, family tree.
Generations changed my look.
As decades add to family book,
new stories written, new decor,
new ornaments, new feet meet floor.
I am from traditions, past,
That hang from branches: plastic, glass…
Each tiny bulb tells its own story:
Christmas here, in all its glory.
Wendy, I love your take on this, the fact that the tree wants to be a part of this tradition, wants to be a part of the “warm, bright home, full of cheer.” Thanks for crafting and sharing this perspective!
Wendy, what fun! I love the rhyming, and such a sweet perspective of the tree and all its changing styles. Sweet! I love “tinsel strewn with wild glee” Memories of my childhood!
Wendy—I especially love those last lines:
“Each tiny bulb tells its own story:
Christmas here, in all its glory.”
merry Christmas!
Where I’m From
By Mo Daley 12-22-25
I’m from fights with wrapping-paper tube swords,
sometimes crying when mine turned to ribbons of curls first
From check your stockings for coins or nuts
From two or three gifts if we were lucky
I’m from waiting in the back bedroom with all my siblings and maybe some cousins
Until Santa arrived late Christmas Eve
I’m from listening intently to hear the reindeer hooves
On the rooftop, though theyoften seemed to come from the living room
I’m from taking turns opening gifts and
Saying thank you after each one.
I’m from visiting relatives on Christmas day
And becoming exhausted from the Christmas cheer
Mo—those wrapping paper battles and the living room hooves! It seems like you were given magic…
Mo, you did capture those wrapping paper tube battles. So fun. I love the memories you have helped us to experience. They sound like nice times, and yet I love that last line. It shows the complicated nature of large gatherings for us introverts.
Grandpa
I am from outside the pane,
But inside your heart,
I remain.
The broken wheel on the bike,
A warmth felt
On December nights.
A disregarded doll under leaves,
A memory
of you that once believed.
Rusty pistols and rotted bows,
A time enchanted,
Now a faint glow,
A ride on the shoulders with a mint,
Tugs of frosty beards,
With letters sent.
Now I sit outside the pane,
Watching you,
Unravel in the rain.
The magic that once in your eyes,
Rest on brown couches,
With moaning sighs.
Unravel the ribbon just once more,
I won’t come down the chimney,
Just open the door.
—Boxer
Boxer, the pane brings a new dimension and perspective, and I love the interplay of presence and color here.
Oooh! I had to read this three times with pleasure. This poem is magical, mysterious and memorable. So much of this is beautiful. The faint glow, the riding on shoulders, the frosty beards…I especially love the last three lines.
Wow. I don’t even know know what to say except wow.
” A memory of you that once believed.”
“Unravel the ribbon just once more,
I won’t come down the chimney,
Just open the door.”
This poem is filled with emotion—sorrow, regret, remembrance, longing…and more. Wow, Boxer!
I am from
A December holiday spent at Hilton Head
All five of us walking along the beach holding hands
One December we all wore Peanuts sweatshirts
Gifts were always exchanged
The menorah was lit
On one special night we ate latkes with homemade applesauce
Everyday we walked along the beach wind catching our hair
Jamie—what a lovely memory! So different from my snowy one. The last line paints a picture of freedom and pleasure.
Jamie, I love “All five of us walking along the beach holding hands” Precious memory and joy! The little details like the wind in your hair and the homemade applesauce make it all the better.
I am from the shadows
hiding behind the grey black slush
the lake effect event that may have happened
6 or 60 days ago
but the revages remain
the blacktop is stained
white with salt crystals
road and sky swirl into one
long puff of breath
silver bells granite smells
sleigh bell scenes winter dreams
forgotten dreary realities
winter solstice finally
halfway into and halfway behind
another calendar flip another familiar trip
ice and elbow
wind through cornrows
safe inside
complacent homestead…
Luke—I kept whispering ooooh! as I read this! The imagery of the remains of the lake effect snow, the rhymes tucked in throughout, and the final dash (ice and elbow) to safety and complacency. Still ooh-ing here!
Luke, you’ve captured that grayness of midwestern snow, especially when the road and sky swirl into one. I also love the 6 or 60 days ago showing how we easily lose track of time in winter. I really like this poem!
I’m posting right before my lunch break ends. I’ll be back to read and comment.
Gayle, you nailed this holiday version of one of my favorite poetry prompts:
I can visualize everything!
I’m From Christmas in the Dons
I’m from the Jackson 5’s “Christmas Album” in 1970
From “Hey man, what’s wrong with you Jermaine?”
To “I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus.”
I’m from “We always get a flocked tree.”
From driving for what seemed like hours
To the railroad tracks where fresh trees awaited our picking
I’m from “Who’s been naughty or nice?”
To wondering if Santa really was able to see me
And all my shenanigans for an entire year
I’m from “Make your lists, girls, and leave it by the fireplace.”
From listing every possible toy I could imagine
To knowing I would get every possible toy I could imagine
I’m from “Don’t sit too close to the fireplace.”
From cuddling up in sleeping bags with friends
To watching all the holiday cartoons over and over
I’m from telling my children, “I am Santa and I am doing the best I can.”
From dancing to “Up on the Housetop”
To teaching them the reason for the season
I’m from carrying on my grandmother’s traditions, “Stir it hard!”
From baking cookies and bread for the family
To playing games and laughing until our sides ache
I’m from doing too much in class because “Everyone needs at least one gift”
From “we can make our own gifts”
To learning how to give love because it’s the only gift that lasts
©Stacey L. Joy, 12/22/25
(note: The Dons is the neighborhood where I grew up.)
Stacey, Merry Christmas! Your poem skillfully weaves in the memories of your your childhood, beliefs, family traditions, and so much love! Each stanza is precious, but this made me smile:
“I’m from “Who’s been naughty or nice?”
To wondering if Santa really was able to see me
And all my shenanigans for an entire year”
I will carry this line with me: “To learning how to give love because it’s the only gift that lasts.”
Stacey—love this! So full of life and love! My favorite phrase—“From listing every possible toy I could imagine
To knowing I would get every possible toy I could imagine”. What joy in that! And your close—the best—“To learning how to give love because it’s the only gift that lasts”. So very true.
A Poet of Sorts
I am from
blinking cursors,
half-thought of lines,
misremembered quotes,
snatches of poetry,
a line from Whitman here,
a verse from Eliot there
(with a healthy dose
of Frost sprinkled in);
I’m from mixed metaphors
and malapropisms
(stuffed full of eggcorns
and mondegreens and
spoonerisms) basically
a full-course meal of
misused, misconstrued,
and misheard words
but, then again,
aren’t we all?
_______________________________________________________
Gayle, thank you for this introspective prompt! Your descriptions in your mentor poem are so vivid. I was there watching the “gift mountain…spreading out into the family surrounding the tree.” And I love that this memory will be “a shining keepsake / that glows more brightly over time” for you. Now, for my offering, I’m not quite sure what I’m getting at here (other than, maybe, that we are, ultimately, at least partially (?), a collection of words and ideas and thoughts of others – and, make no mistake about it, so are they – and that’s kind of interesting/intriguing to me this fine [non-wintery] December day).
I had to look up mondegreens and eggcorns–and now I know what most of my memories consist of. Now to come up with a way to slide them into conversation…
Your poem represents so many of us who are made up of words we have heard or read and possibly misremembered. Thank you, and happy holidaze (my first deliberate eggcorn!)
We are indeed, Scott, a little bit of everything and everyone who came before us. I’m just wondering why Frost has to be in a healthy dose, lol. Thank you for your words today!
Is it weird that I find your poem so relatable, Scott? You had me at, “half-thought of lines,
misremembered quotes.” Thanks for a chuckle this evening.
Gayle – I will take a shot at this later today, but thank you. Thank you for that mountain of handmade gifts. I am weeping.
Good Morning, Gayle! Thank you for “sending me” down the memory lane. I love so many scene sketches in your I Am poem. Precious memories, and many of them are so relatable, especially the buzz around the kitchen and two huge table waiting for the people. Thank you also for hosting this month.
Here is my offering:
From Crimean Snowflakes to Louisiana Stars
I am New Year in Crimea
Shimmering in a small Crimean house,
where Mama placed our glittering tree in the hallway,
so its snowflake lights glowed through every doorway,
so I and passersby could spot it all the way from school
and feel the holiday long before I reached the steps.
I am a child of simple gifts
I am cookie bags tied with string,
candies rustling like tiny promises—
a family of ten with full hearts and frugal hands.
I am sisters arriving with stories,
husbands laughing in the kitchen,
steam rising from pots that fed everyone twice.
I am songs in the dark of winter
on the Old New Year’s Eve
when voices traveled door to door,
carols weaving warmth through frozen streets.
We welcome singers inside,
offering coffee, sweets,
and the cozy comfort of staying awhile.
I am a holiday host myself today.
I am Christmas in America now—
my husband beside me,
friends and neighbors filling the rooms with new laughter,
So many loved hearts sharing food, music, candlelight.
Cookies cooling, gifts wrapped, stories told.
I am a house that holds two worlds at once—
Crimean snowflakes watching Louisiana stars—
And both are so dear to my heart.
Your poem shows how richly you are blessed with the culture from these two worlds. I can see the small Christmas tree glowing through every doorway and outside. What a beautiful picture!
Lielya–“Crimean snowflakes watching Louisiana stars—”. The perfect close to a multi-cultured Christmas past. I can see that sparkling tree (and feel the love…)
Your poem today reaches in and grabs my heart. You truly tug at the heartstrings with Crimea and Louisiana and embracing the goodness and love of each. Houses are big enough to hold many worlds, and yours is blessed with more than one. I love that you capture the spirit and spread the cheer.
Family Party
I am from
A Dad that loved family
At Christmas his “plastic slitting” shop
had walls wrapped in green plastic
hiding the machinery
now a festive room
with a white Christmas tree
decorated with red bobbles.
I am from
Our family of twenty
all holding sheet music
ready to sing the carols
before we feasted
on roast beef
homemade jams
and fruitcake.
I am from
gifts worth five dollars
randomly given
after I drew a number
and wondered
who would go first?
I am from
Lots of laughs
when Dad got a roll of toilet paper
printed like money.
I am from
Memories like these
that can’t be repeated
but certainly cherished.
Thanks, Gayle, for this prompt. Last night I was with my sisters and we were talking about the family party. Your prompt led me back to some old memories in the photo album.
Your poem made me cry! “I am from – Lots of laughs – when Dad got a roll of toilet paper – printed like money” – brought back a memory of my Dad receiving that same thing as a gift. Thank you for allowing me to ‘memory dumpster-dive’ with you.
Susan–I am fascinated by the setting for your party–I can see it in my mind. Your gathering sounds wonderful–the carols, the gift exchange (I remember those toilet paper rolls!), and the love that filled the room. Beautiful memory!
Oh, Susan, what a sweet way to bring up these memories. A family of twenty is twice bigger than mine before my siblings and I had had our own families. I also “hear” so much love for your father in this poem. he sounds like an amazing person at the center of celebrations. Love the ending–so relatable:
“Memories like these
that can’t be repeated
but certainly cherished. “
Gayle, inviting us to write about “Sappy, but true memories” is a lovely option during this holiday season. Here’s mine.
I’m from
Get it done before you run.
Leave in time to be late.
Eat everything off your plate.
I’m from, “Be nice.
Don’t make me say it twice.
Will you please pass that bowl of rice.”
I’m from
Kidney beans and cornbread.
Any plate looks good with green and red.
“Get that silly hat off your head.”
I’m from, “God is first.
And do not curse.
Now, memorize that Bible verse.”
I’m from love, love, love.
Love Him, love us, love yourself.
“Please hand me that spice up on that shelf.”
Anna, I love that you are able to seamlessly rhyme your verse while saying the truths of your family Christmas tradition.
Anna, thank you for taking me with to your wonder-filled Christmas! The love comes pouring through every line – you were truly blessed.
I love your “sappy but true” memories! I can feel the energy in the room- full of love and busy with preparations! “I’m from Love Him, love us, love yourself.” We could use a little more of that!. “
Anna, that love is a glue of your family and the world as you know it. I, too, believe love is quite powerful and makes people better. as always, rhyming makes your poems run smoothly and enrich with sounds. Thank you for the bonus 5 rules of love!
Anna, you link your words in what seems like effortless rhyme. A little lesson attached in each stanza. Maybe that’s how we remember what’s right and what’s right to do.
Anna, your sappy but true memories come jumping off the page. I too was told to eat everything on the plate and to memorize that Bible verse! I do feel the love oozing through this piece. Happy Holidays
I just penned the first thing that came to mind. Sitting on the steps with my brothers on Christmas Eve, listening to my dad read the Christmas story from Luke. I loved this prompt.
I am from
the Christmas story,
being read as we sat on the steps,
near the wood stove that heated the house.
I am from
a 200 year old family bible,
my father reading the story,
from Luke as we listened.
I am from
Christmas hymns sung around the piano,
homemade gifts, warm family,
and warm hearts.
Mona, Thanks for sharing your Christmas memories. My father would always read a special Christmas prayer. I can’t remember what it was. I love that your father read from a 200 year old family bible. What a treasure!
Mona–did you hear me sigh and settle in as I read this? The peace and warmth flow out from your poem. “Long sigh”
Mona, I am in love with the first stanza. It is so great that you were read stories as a child. The memories of “homemade gifts, warm family, / and warm hearts” are priceless.
Thank you, Gayle, for your fabulous glimpse into your holiday. I have struggled with this format that is, for me, a powerful reminder of the change that is inevitable in family-based celebrations as well as the many people who are no longer with us.
I am from
A trailer-home,
One present appearing
After Christmas Eve services
Starched dresses,
Happy Birthday, Mom,
Your gift, with a pink bow,
Before carols in harmony.
I am also from
Calendars that become towels
Crocheted mittens,
Knitted doll clothes,
Patent leather shoes
Slicked with petroleum jelly
Carols, in harmony, around the piano.
I married into
Vats of soupe de pesce,
Platters of cookies,
Dishes till dawn,
A plethora of people singing
All the carols while littles
Waited desperately for
Piles of presents,
Wrapping paper for miles,
On Christmas Eve,
I am now
Filled with memories,
Back to Christmas Eve services
Alone, but not lonely.
Holding ornaments, moments
In my heart, silently.
Watching my own children
Creating for their littles,
Their Own I Am From Memories
Anita, several of your lines speak for and to me. The strongest, today, is “Alone, but not lonely” which forces me to remember that past and enjoy the present. Thanks for evoking that combination in just one line of thoughtfully written poetry.
There is a sad tone to this circle of life poem. There is much to be grateful for, but it’s also a time when we realize all that we have lost. Blessings to you this year!
Anita–so many memories here, and so much love. I am at your “I Am Now” place in life, as well. I missed your last line the first time I read it. I’m glad I re-read it!
“Watching my own children
Creating for their littles,
Their Own I Am From Memories”
This is what it is all about. Thank you for the reminder…
Anita, what a beautiful poem. I love these lines:
“Alone, but not lonely.
Holding ornaments, moments
In my heart, silently.”
First of all, it sounds so cool together: “ornaments, moments.” It also makes me think as if you hold each ornament and it brings you back to a certain moment from the past. Beautiful!
Anita, your poem reminded me of kitchen towels that were calendars and next year calendars. I wonder if my mom thought they were as neat as I did.
I like the way you structured your poem to bring all the places and people you’re from at different times of your life. What a great way to put a new spin on a variation of the poem. Those shoes slicked with petroleum jelly (I guess for the shine?) is a new way to wear the classics. Love this!
Gayle,
Thanks for hosting and sharing your beautiful memories. I especially love these details that bring us right into your large family gathering:
I have old friends in town that I want to see this morning, so limiting myself to Christmas Eve.
———————————————
On Christmas Eve
we sat together
in a crowded pew
even Frank was with us
Angela’s clear voice rang out
as we stood and sang Joy to the World
two across the street families
alternating years of hosting
dinner was Debbie’s lasagna
or Mom and Dad’s tortiere
plates of Mom’s buckeyes and sandies
of Debbie’s peanut brittle
passed around more than once
as we sat admiring the tree
before hugging goodnight
Steven and Heather, the youngest
placed Jesus in the manger
———————————————–
Thanks to each of you for our lovely writing community. Happy holidays! See you in January!
Sharon, thanks for sharing the lovely memories of family and friends celebrating together. That’s one of the special aspects of this holiday season. It didn’t matter who hosted or what we ate, it was being with those we know and are learning to love. I especially find the closing lines, of focusing on putting Jesus in the manger, more than the star on the top. Your family helped focus on the Reason for the Season. Thanks for the memories.
So many happy moments here! I am especially touched by that last detail–the youngest children placing Jesus in the manger….
Sharon, your poem reminded me of our holidays back in Crimea, when each neighbor was like a family member. The sense of community is strong in your poem as
“two across the street families
alternating years of hosting
dinner”
First years in this country I just couldn’t understand why neighbors didn’t know each other’s names, never talked, or had anything in common. Now, when we moved to a small town, we are so blessed with great neighbors.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Sharon, thanks for sharing your memories from the pew to the table to your brother placing Jesus in the manger.
Sharon, the alternating of neighbors sharing the hosting and food preparation is such a sweet image, with Baby Jesus in the manger. I like that there was lasagna and buckeyes – – a great blending of cultures and hearts. And that is what Christmas is all about – – the arms that reach long enough to embrace us every one!
Sharon, I feel like I am on the street with you and your neighbors hugging goodnight! May your holiday, this year, have some moments of wonder and magic as well.
Gayle, I wrote my poem before reading yours, already having a sense of the form. Yours is built with so many personal memories and sensual experiences that I feel plopped right down in the midst of the homemade gifts. Thanks for this prompt. I enjoyed thinking back to my childhood and realizing I was privileged in so many ways.
I am from
the scent of Douglas fir
on a frosty morning,
Mom on piano playing
”Oh Holy Night”
while Uncle Stu sings
in perfect tenor tone.
I am from
hanging long wool socks
for Santa to fill
with oranges, chocolates, and candy canes.
I sat “Thank you” with a knowing nod to Mom.
I am from
an Advent wreath of purple and pink candles
we argued over whose turn it was to snuff,
watching the miraculous steam rise.
I am from
Aunt Alabel’s Charlotte Russe
on Christmas Eve, her cheerful voice
talking nonstop, whispered giggles
filled my heart with joy.
I am from
bright lights in our eyes
on Christmas morning. Mom held the light bar
while Dad rolled the movie camera. Our silent
Oohs and Aahs as the three of us explored
the land of toys. Chatty Cathy waited quietly on the couch.
I am from
rising at dawn,
Mannheim Steamroller on the record player,
comparing gifts with the neighbors,
all of us outside on new bikes,
roller skates, a bouncy basketball.
Middle America
on Beechcrest Drive.
Margaret–A slice of Christmas–from singing around the piano (how I miss those times) to the orange in the stocking’s toe, and the Chatty Cathy!! My sister got one for Christmas!
Middle America, indeed. (Was it better then, or just different? I wonder…)
Margaret, I am pausing and savoring these lines:
“I am from
bright lights in our eyes
on Christmas morning. Mom held the light bar
while Dad rolled the movie camera. Our silent
Oohs and Aahs as the three of us explored
the land of toys. Chatty Cathy waited quietly on the couch.”
I can imagine your parents capturing those moments when three of you were opening the gifts.
Margaret, such vivid and warm memories here! It takes me back to playing The Sound of Music on the record player in Hattiesburg. What a gift!
Margaret, I am filled with all the middle America bike for Christmas feels as I read this; however, you also remind me of those magical Advent Wreaths that we too snuffed into smoky wonder every night. Great memories
So many wonderful sensory details here, Margaret! My favorite moment is “Our silent / Oohs and Aahs as the three of us explored / the land of toys. Chatty Cathy waited quietly on the couch.” Thanks for crafting and sharing this with us!
Good morning, Gayle! Today, I’m teaching the final session of my salary point course (another 8 hours on Zoom). I’ll be back to read, comment, and share. This is one of my favorite poetry topics! I look forward to seeing the beautiful poetry birthed today! Thank you for hosting and for bringing us back together to write before the holidays.⭐️🎄
I Am From
I am from
Love and confidence in the future
Montevideo with its snowy hills
rolling down them on Christmas Day
I am from
Yummy Fattigmann cookies
and sadly, lutefisk
and a house that smells like Christmas
I am from
Grandma Sina making lefse
with little eyes that are dancing
watching her weave her magic on the stove
I am from
opening presents on Christmas Eve
with a planned one-at-a-time for us kids
that we never stuck to
I am from
a fuzzy tummy going to sleep
against my wishes
on Christmas Eve
wanting to wait for Santa
I am from
wondering how Santa got in and filled
our stockings hanging on the wall
with no chimney at all
I am from
wrestling with Dad on Christmas morning
while Mom made mincemeat pie
eating her beloved fruitcake,
I am from
playing with my new baby doll that
actually, drank a bottle and wet her diaper
I am not playing with
the new hairbrush I got or the new underwear
I am from
running outside to meet up with friends
and exchange tales of what we
got for Christmas as we searched for
pieces of cardboard
to sled down the hill with
I am from
hot cocoa waiting for
frozen little hands to wrap around it and
warm donuts fresh out of the fryer
I am from
smiles and laughter
wonder and joy
memories recalled from days gone by
Lutefisk!! My dad had that every Christmas Eve at my other (Swedish)grandparents’ house. I always sat as far away as possible. Sadly is the right adjective there! My favorite line is “Love and confidence in the future”. So much hope. Do we have that today?
Cardboard as a sled! Huh. We used our snowsuit fronts, cafeteria trays and all kinds of plastic items. Never thought of cardboard. Ohhhh, I love all the ways that love is tucked into this poem. Although, I do not know what lutefisk is. I must go google that now—and am back from googling. That might be something you have to grow up with to appreciate. I’m much more the hot cocoa and donuts kind of kid 🙂
Judi,
What a wealth of memories!
This made me laugh:
and so did this:
Such a sweet ending.
Gayle, what a way to end our 2025 Open Write Year with a poem that gives us a glimpse into the windows of holiday celebrations! You and Mona did a fantastic job with this month’s prompts, and I am grateful for you and every writer in this group. I’m with Uncle Herman there sopping the gravy onto the bread, savoring every bite and every memory of the pile of gifts and the merriment. Merry Christmas!
Haynes Homestead Holidays
I am from the sequined felt stockings
of oranges, nuts, and candy cane dreams
From Life Savers Candy Books and a
red-headed Chrissy doll in an orange dress
but never that Lite Brite I wanted
I am from the Island Padre’s pastorium
under the Live Oaks with a round disc tree swing
the one with the brick fence
and a chalkboard in the back yard
for playing school with stolen chalk
I am from the daylilies no one ever saw
and the oleanders I feared would kill the dog
from the ever-blooming Christmas cactus
generations deep
until I killed it
I’m from Christmas Eve Candlelight Services
from singing Silent Night in a congregational circle
in the dark, cold churchyard
From Joneses and Hayneses
one side complete chaos, the other complete order
from junk drawers galore to every spare nail and screw in its place
I’m from the silver tinsel tree
with Sears Wishbook presents wrapped in Santa paper
and fruitcake cookies we pretended to like
From high noon resentment
and questions that weren’t meant that way
I’m from driftwood and oyster shell Nativity sets
from going with the flow to cloistered
I’m from deep South Georgia roots I’m glad I escaped
preferring mountains over islands and choices I never had
From Lowcountry boil with Old Bay on Christmas Day
From the preacher granddaddy taking candy from a lady
on Bourbon Street trying to pray with her
to the other granddaddy I caught nipping from the bottle in the garage
From the uncle drunk in a train wreck who lived to see jail
I’m from seven storage rooms of too much stuff I never want to see again
……….except maybe those cereal box California Raisins
the ones that stood proudly on Noah’s Ark
when the kids played Save the World, those raisins
that knew all along
they were going places
Oh, Kim! So vivid, so real!
“From Joneses and Hayneses
one side complete chaos, the other complete order
from junk drawers galore to every spare nail and screw in its place”
this made me chuckle—it sums up the family contrast perfectly. As did the rest—but this phrase was perfection—
“From high noon resentment
and questions that weren’t meant that way”
I believe that is a truism for every family! (I need to know more about the game and the raisin!!!)
I’ll trade you or anyone time with my lite brite for an hour with an easy-bake oven! LOL.
And, oh…those candlelight services…mass for me. The most beautiful sounds of my childhood. Thanks for these memories. What a gift!
that danged Easy-Bake oven. I have been tempted more than once to pick one up at the thrift shop more than once and put it under the tree for me.
Kim,
Love all the details and nuances of your poem.
Your first stanza made me think of my mom for two reasons: She made us needlepoint stockings with felt backs and told us stories about how precious it was to get an orange for Christmas.
I love how your poem contains so many details, many of which hint at deeper meanings and differences amongst families. These lines have me wondering about the story behind the story.
Kim – this section made me think of the work my spouse does as a couple’s counsellor, and the family structures couples have to navigate.
“From Joneses and Hayneses
one side complete chaos, the other complete order
from junk drawers galore to every spare nail and screw in its place”
I think about my own 20 something kids and that this is a line they would utterly understand (My family is the chaos side)
Kim, the vivid details and the subtle reminders that holidays, like families, are far from perfect whatever that might be. For what its worth, I too killed the generations old family cactus – I even tried to replace it and the replacement followed its leader! You had me with the memories of the loved Sears Wishbook, dreadful tinsel and desired Chrissy doll! I hope you find smiles in the memories of holidays past as well as hope and light as your embrace what is today.
Kim, your poem draws me in with rich imagery from the first line. You take me from one skillfully narrated scene to another. I can easily imagine myself close to this place:
“under the Live Oaks with a round disc tree swing
the one with the brick fence
and a chalkboard in the back yard
for playing school with stolen chalk”
I loved the internal rhymes and their sound effects in these lines:
“From Lowcountry boil with Old Bay on Christmas Day
From the preacher granddaddy taking candy from a lady”
Merry Christmas!
Thanks for the memories, Gayle! I grew up just south of Rochester and we got snow from Lake Ontario. Snowmobile suits and big clunky snow boots were my winter uniform!
Below is a first words down…but I aim to revise and create an ending as touching as yours. What a beautiful memoir piece to share with your children!
I am from
falling asleep to the sewing machine
whirring away in the dining room;
stitching Christmas nightgowns for me
and my sister and our dolls
as snow piled up beneath the window
The dining table extended with all the leaves
and foldable mats to protect the wood
was a craft table of fabric and glue
and wrapping paper, ribbon and tape.
I am from
making loaves of cranberry nut bread
for all the neighbors
sticky orange juice splashed
on the counters as Bing Crosby crooned
from the hi-fi.
I am from
Uncle Tom’s idea of a Christmas Tree Farm
All the cousins would trudge through the snow
up on ‘the land’ to haul out the sweet smelling trees
pile them onto the trailer,
stand them up onto metal fence posts
to sell for a dollar a foot;
except for Mrs. Goho whose tree
was annually “stolen” off her porch
and replaced for free.
I am from
Christmas Eve readings
of Clement C. Moore…on Dasher and Dancer…
and the family story told every year of Vixen
replaced with my “President Nixon.”
I am from
Grandma serving oyster stew to the grown-ups
and beans and hot dogs to the kids on fancy dishes
that hand painted milk jug of Santa’s face winking.
Cousin David’s yellow Tonka dump truck
piling up discarded wrapping paper
before the adults nodded off in their chairs
and we kids tiptoed into the hallway
to play with our new loot.
Linda, you bring us right to the open-leaf table, wrapping presents and playing in the hallway, and I’m laughing at Mrs. Goho with her string of thefts. Must have been the real life Grinch, I’m thinking, in her own version of Whoville. I love the idea of the trees at a dollar a foot – – just wow! Entrepreneurial Uncle Tom was years ahead of his time. All of these memories are twinkling lights on your tree of memories, and I’m smitten with the love and joy here in your lines.
Linda—my grandmother had that foldable table cover. I had totally forgotten it, and you brought back a visceral memory for me!
I feel like I sat at your table with beans and hot dogs, and trudged up to “the land”. I hope you have someone to share these memories with…
Oh my goodness! What a list of memories we share! yes, the sewing machine and crafts, Bing Crosby and nut bread. I miss the Christmas tree lots with trees along the fence.Those have been replaced here with large commercial markets. Of course the boys got their Tonka trucks and we all drank from mugs hand painted with Santa’s face winking.
Thanks so much for these memories!
Linda, your description is vivid and I can hear the sewing machine as well as Bing Crosby and your Grandma serving up that precious oyster stew! I remember my grandmother had one of those foldable table covers that were used whenever we ate there and covered with a huge fake lace tablecloth while her fancy one sat in the drawer, Thank you for these holiday memories that appear to be more like “universal truths!”
Hi Gayle
This is always a classic form to use. Thank you. I focused on our family tradition of writing notes to our future selves, which we stuff inside glass ornaments (and hope a few break every year – sometimes with a little help — so we can read the past).
Kevin
I am from paper,
from scribbled lines,
from stories told
in frozen time,
from pencil marks
and scattered poems,
from notes to self,
inside small glass homes,
from wagging tails
and hooks and pins,
from laughter where
our lives have been;
I am from the memory
we share as gift,
and on the darkest days,
where the light still lifts
us into the embrace of love
This is a really sweet tradition and a beautiful connection for th prompt. Thanks for sharing and happy Xmas to you and yours!
“where the light still lifts” is such a beautiful place to leave this poem on. Just beautiful. Thank you for sharing…and extra snaps for rhyming!
Kevin, what a great tradition, and I loved the rhyme that made this flow so gently, a perfect complement to the content!
Kevin, what an awesome tradition! That would be a great tradition to introduce to your students, too. A great way to preserve memories. I hope you frame some of these or at least recycle them into unbroken ornaments. I’m inspired!
Kevin— what a lovely tradition! Your last lines melted me—
“I am from the memory
we share as gift,
and on the darkest days,
where the light still lifts
us into the embrace of love”
…the embrace of love…
Kevin,
Fantastic first line:
Thank you for sharing your sweet family tradition.
And lifting us up with your ending:
Beautiful.
Kevin! Gah. As musical as ever, and perfect for these dark days of December. thank you.
Kevin, first I LOVE and have adopted your glass ball tradition – only we open them every year! ALSO, your holiday sounds wrapped in love as I would expect it to be. May it be a tree that launches a bright holiday and a peaceful New Year.
Kevin, what a wonderful tradition! I think I am going to steal this idea for my grandchildren with slight adjustments. Every year, I buy each one of them a Christmas ornament, put it on a tree, and collect them in a box afterwards. I plan to give it to them when they turn 18. Now I could also include a wish/note for them.
These lines are heartwarming to me:
“I am from the memory
we share as gift,
and on the darkest days,
where the light still lifts
us into the embrace of love”
This is such a cool tradition, Kevin! Thanks for sharing!