Homeland Poetry

In our Literature of California class, we have transitioned into our California Regions unit. We have broken up the state into three distinct regions: The Bay Area, The Southland, and the Heartland. Last week we read works about the Bay Area and this week we are moving into our discussion of the Southland.

One of the poems students read over the weekend was "Santa Ana of Grocery Carts" by Aracelis Girmay. This evocative poem is a sensory observation of the Santa Ana that Girmay grew up in. In reading the poem, you can see, hear, smell, taste, and feel Girmay's Santa Ana. It is both a love letter and a study of her hometown.

For this week's blog post, I want my students to write their own sensory poem about the city that they live in. I'm looking for at least 10 lines of poetry (they need not rhyme) that draw the reader into the sensory experience of your city. Besides the poem, please write 4-5 sentences where you describe your town and a little bit of the inspiration for your poem. Please also include an image of your city as well.

Above is a picture of the city that I grew up in, Rancho Cucamonga. More specifically, I grew up in Alta Loma, a smaller "town" within the city of RC. Nestled at the base of Mount Baldy in San Bernardino county, whenever I think about where I grew up, the mountains always loom large in the background. I had no idea how lucky I was to wake up and go to sleep to the sight of these mountain while I was growing up there, but now, whenever I see them, I know that I am home. Here is my poem:

high land

by Greg McCandless

main streets became flood channels

during heavy storms

mountain flotsam, human garbage

           pooling at four-stop intersections, a one-stoplight town. too

small for me.

small world, full of 

whites, mexicans, blacks, Tongans, Mormons,

       red tile roofs, citrus groves and houses,

three floorplans in our subdivision, alternating and reversed,

a puzzle that, once figured out,

confirmed my fear of conformity.

majestic mountains, majesty for some

overbearing parents

of one.

crisp, cold winter mornings, breathe rising

and mixing with smog, tight

lungs, tightening even more until

an escape plan is hatched

alta loma, high land

         bye land. Still,

i'm always drawn back.