First Grade
by Ron Koertge
Until then, every forest
had wolves in it, we thought
it would be fun to wear snowshoes
all the time, and we could talk to water.
So who is this woman with the gray
breath calling out names and pointing
to the little desks we will occupy
for the rest of our lives?
I am just floored by this poem. And also reminded of another breathtaking poem: Sixth Grade, by Jeanie Greensfelder.
avoision (August 15, 2021 at 7:42 pm)