I've been making my seniors write, write, write. And since April is National Poetry Month, four of their remaining assignments are poems.
I know they love me.
As a "mentor text" (fancy teacher word for "example"), I chose one of their assignments and wrote one of my own in class today. [It's really kind of terrifying to hook your computer up to the big screen and churn out an idea while the kids are watching/not watching/praying it's all over soon so they can graduate.]
It's based off off of a poem found in the New Yorker and comes from THIS prompt. You should write one, too. Scribble it down on a piece of paper next to you. Tell a story about something you will one day love about yourself. Mine happens to be wrinkles. :)
Someday I’ll Love Becky
My momma gave me eye cream when I was 14.
Said to slather it on my skin.
Said it would prevent the wrinkles setting in.
So I did.
I slathered in on.
For fifteen years,
it nourished my skin.
But the wrinkles still came.
A frown line between my eyebrows,
and wrinkles that stretched from my eyes –
sort of like small spider legs
And then came the parenthesis around my lips.
Like an added epitaph on a one-day tombstone.
(This girl laughed.)
And then I had a little boy and suddenly,
the wrinkles and
the eye cream didn’t matter.
the wrinkles were more like a story.
A story that he was a part of.
A story that he practically created.
When I think about the thing
that I’ll maybe one day love,
I think it must be the wrinkles.
Because how could you hate --
how could you really hate
(and I do mean anything)
that was created by living
. About Moi .
I love, love, love flannel sheets and I am really passionate about lists on post it notes and most of the time I'm sad that no one else is as excited as I am about Diet Mountain Dew. I also adore run-on sentences.
He saw her before he saw
anything else in the room.
- F. Scott Fitzgerald
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