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'Where I'm From' by Stephanie Pacheco

The poem is about growing up in New York City and celebrating cultural traditions and community. It describes taking trips to the Bronx Zoo as a child, learning to braid hair, and dancing in the streets to music. It conveys a sense of pride in the narrator's New York upbringing and neighborhood.

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Here & Now
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4K views3 pages

'Where I'm From' by Stephanie Pacheco

The poem is about growing up in New York City and celebrating cultural traditions and community. It describes taking trips to the Bronx Zoo as a child, learning to braid hair, and dancing in the streets to music. It conveys a sense of pride in the narrator's New York upbringing and neighborhood.

Uploaded by

Here & Now
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
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“Yo, Steph! Where You From?

field trips called for


a walk to the bodega
the morning of.
demanded a bacon egg and cheese
of my five dollars,
said we gon’ eat
before we go
to the Bronx zoo

always on the d train,


always on wednesdays,
always free entry.

the train
was the hood kids’ magic vessel
into wonderland.
we made steel poles our enchanted forests,
wished upon the stars of its lights,
and tapped our feet
to the sound
of the underground roar –

we say
the most “Bronx” trip you could attend
was the Bronx zoo
was the one that was cheapest for the school budget
was the one all of our mamís could afford
was the other place where caged beings live,

say
the mark of nativity
is watching other things in capture
is being a witness to the cage
is celebrating that at least
we voyage together
say
we dream of home too.

i say i’m from New York


and i mean
i’ve been going to the same braiding shop
on Fordham Ave
since i was 11,
i found the rhythm
of fingers twirling
my hair into soil and blossom
and named it my favorite beat.

i say i’m from New York


and i mean
i recite “Hey Ma” by Cam’ron
and “Dile Al Amor” by Aventura
in my sleep.
i mean i dream of song.
these were the gospel tunes
that made block aunties and tías
jump up
in praise.
i mean la pompa was our baptism
and these streets are my church.

i say
i began to count the pigeons,
how they became holy
in my chest too –
you black winged angel,
you remind us all of flight.

i mean
we dance to anything.
the “no music!” clapping beat
applies to all situations
it fills the void
of disremembering;

i say
“lite feet!”
and we stomp hard.
and we don’t stay still.

i say i'm from new york


and i mean,
my high school didn’t have a gym.
or an auditorium.
or a first week ritual that didn’t involve a memorial,

i mean they keep trying to shut down my library


to build a precinct in its place
i mean
i learned my poverty
by learning other people’s wealth

i say underfunded
i say we hungry
i say i am song
i say concrete palace
i say my mother built this
i say our people are buried here
so it must be ours
i say we hold these bodies
like the ground does,

and i mean
i’m gonna make it home mama
i mean this country can’t pick me from its teeth
i mean this city won’t swallow me
i mean gentrifiers better make room for us
i mean we gon’ eat
before we go
i mean we coming
i mean we here
i mean if these city lights are my stars
then i’m not too far from them at all,
i mean if the pigeons can fly
then i can too,

i say
we Black
and Brown
and poor
and trans
and queer

we’re eternal

we build
so we burn,

it is cultural practice
to refuse
to die.

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