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A Poem about Reading

Sitting on a cold floor
But not feeling it.
Lost in the words, the picture, the feelings.

Mommy? Do stuffed animals really talk to one another?

The sound of dishes clinking in the water running disappeared
As her clear voice offered

What do you think?

If I love them enough they will. And it’s like when you believe hard
enough…
And I turned a page…

Age 9:

We walked in together, about 15 of us.
A teacher none of us knew, but still did not like stood at the front of the
room.
(Maybe it was the glasses pushed to the end of her nose?)
It was our choice
Meeting after school—the “top readers”
But we were all thinking “Why?”

Why are we inside with the witch instead of out with our friends?

A poem was distributed to each of us with one simple direction,
Read.
We did.
We sat.
We waited.

So, what did you think about as you read?

We glanced at each other.
What did she mean what did we think?
But then, slowly, the magic began.

I thought of…Yeah…Me too…
Good. But this is what the author really meant.

And the magic disappeared.
She had turned the page…

The rows were five by five.
Each of us sat in our assigned seat.
I remember being told

This is what the author means.
Make sure to memorize this stanza.
Its all on the test.

I remember thinking

Do I really have to read this?
Yes…I have to pass the test.

Study, memorize, read.
Not for the sake of reading.
But to pass the test.

How many pages is the test anyway?
I flipped through and endless sea of pages…

There were about 20 of us,
Sitting in a circle,
Programmed from being told what to think and what was meant.
We had just finished a novel.
We all had ideas, associations, feelings,
But what were we supposed to think?
Gazing at the professor,
No hint on his face.

Write. Write about anything you thought of.

And we did.
With pens that had been caged for too long flying across the page.

Ideas, associations, feelings.

The discussion that followed unleashed a new reader in each of us,
Or was it a return to our younger selves?
We were all looking forward to turning the next page…

Here I stand
Ten students, 10 brains, 20 eyes looking to me for the answers.
I have made a choice.
I will teach the district instruction required of me,
But that is only one part of the day.
I begin to read, not from the scripted text, but from a novel.

We’re too old for you to read to us.
No, no one is ever too old to be read to.

And I begin again.
Dazed eyes stare at me.
Unknowing
Young adults with still so much to learn.

I hate reading.
Or, is it you haven’t yet read something you like?

Twenty minds questioning why I will put them through this.
I realize they do not know how to read.
Their imaginations have not yet been developed.
Too many years of being told the answers and not being allowed to
Discover.
Can I,
In the 4 short years that they are in my room,
Be the one to open that door?
Can I
Open a door that has been locked up for so long?
I hope that they will learn to turn the page…