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نص القصة المصورة
- a writerYou're a writer, Ms. Vivo says,her gray eyes bright behindthin wire frames. Her smile bigger than anythingso I smile back, happy to hear these wordsfrom a teacher's mouth. She is a feminist, she tells usand thirty fifth-grade hands bend into deskswhere our dictionaries wait to open yet anotherworld to us. Ms. Vivo pauses, watches our fingers flyWebster's has our answers.Equal rights, a boy named Andrew yells out.For women.My hands freeze on the thin white pages.Like Blacks, Ms. Vivo, too, is part of a revolution.But right now, that revolution is so far away from me.This moment, this here, this right now is my teacher saying,You're a writer, as she holds the poem I am just beginning.The first four lines, stolenfrom my sister:Black brothers, Black sisters, all of them were greatno fear no fright but a willingness to fight...
- You can have them, Dell said when she saw.I don't want to be a poet.And then my own pencil moving late into the evening:In big fine houses lived the whitesin little old shacks lived the blacksbut the blacks were smartin fear they took no part.One of them was Martinwith a heart of gold.You're a writer, Ms. Vivo says, holding my poem out to me.And standing in front of the classtaking my poem from hermy voice shakes as I recite the first line:Black brothers, Black sisters, all of them were great...But my voice grows stronger with each word becausemore than anything else in the world,I want to believe her.
تم إنشاء أكثر من 30 مليون من القصص المصورة