Every once in a while I guess I’m entitled to a proud moment as a teacher.
Last week was hard on our town. We got a double dip of horror on our two Patriots Days (the Monday holiday and then the anniversary of the “original” one in 1775), and since Waco, Oklahoma City, and Columbine these days tend to set me on edge a bit. I find myself remembering a lot of children. With Virginia Tech, my definition of children just grew a little older.
But April is also National Poetry Month, and my school celebrates this in earnest, with guest poets, a literary magazine coffee house, and student readings.
One of our student poets stood up on Tuesday to read a poem she had written just the day before. It’s a bit rough, but she manages to say in a few verses what so many people around here are thinking. A little background: she came to us from Cambridge Rindge & Latin, the school the alleged bombers attended. She goes back there every afternoon to participate in a multicultural dance troupe because she loves to dance and because she feels compelled to stay connected to her community. So the points she makes and questions she asks in the poem are not rhetorical or abstract; she is writing, as we tell all student poets to do, about her life.
Anyhow, here’s a poem that I like:
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