BGD Storyboard
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- 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.
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