This past Christmas, my dad sent me my beloved old Poetry book. I cried when I opened it. It was like a long lost friend. So much of my childhood was wrapped around it's words of rhyme.
When you open my poetry book, you can tell which verses were my favorites because of the acid stains from my hands on its pages. Every stain has a memory, and an imprint from my childhood. Inside the front cover, you can see where I wrote my name in cursive for the first time.
This poem in particular, I recited to my fourth grade class from memory. My teacher was delighted that I memorized such a long poem. She was also told my parents that the other students were on the edge of their seats listening to my poem. It was the first time I can remember feeling proud of myself in my young life.
I am so excited to take this journey with all of you. Come back every Thursday, and we will begin the conversation.