Thursday, September 6, 2012

Words in Autumn

I am nervous on my first day in a new school. My bag is full of poetry books and pens and pencils and notes and scraps of paper and sometimes my red stapler. I like to come prepared. But the students are so beautiful and the teachers wonder how I will manage and I'm also so afraid to ask if I can use the photocopier although it's necessary because I need to copy off poems for the kids to read. So I smile at you and then we read poems together and then we write. We make lists and we write about our dreams and we write a few things down that are true and a few other things that are made-up. Sometimes I write something on board that is sad. Sometimes I write something down that makes everyone giggle. We write poems. Sometimes you like me but you still don't like poetry because it's too weird or too hard. Sometimes you LOVE poetry right away and other times you grow to like it. Maybe poetry grows on you? Like a strange flower. Or like some pretty fungus, right? Lichen? Then I might whisper: poetry is inside you, already. It's in your body! Your eyes, your ears, your heart, your tummy, your legs, your breath. Writing poetry is like dancing with words and sounds and pictures all at once. And poetry makes you feel things. This is often why we love a poem. We love the way the poem makes us feel. We love a poem.

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