The Elementary Spirit of Poetry

I am teaching poetry in an elementary classroom -- a tiny girl with a large soul, gigantic brown framed eye glasses and a silky brown bang writes a poem Dorothy Parker would have been proud of and Alice Walker would have adorned her walls with, I tell her,"Dear student, you are wise beyond your years.This is really better than tremendous." A gigantic girl with shoulders like Heinz Ward sails across the classroom and snatches the poem from the tiny girl's hands. She and her fellow condors scuffle to read it, their savage beaks bashing together. The teacher and I make the bully give the verse back. The tiny student sighs, looks up at us our regretful, apologetic expressions and states, "I am used to this." I retort, " Ah, I see. Then, you are used to being the kinder person and the better writer. Your assets will help you...And, them..." Bell ring. End of class. Books gathered. Dismissal. Note: The poet loved teaching and loved students and these situations amused her and made her love all of them even more. The next session they were far more collegial.