#WritcoPoemPrompt49 @AtulPurohit
The days of slate and chalk,
Are not easy to erase,
They hold memories,
Of my childhood,
The hardness of slate,
The grittiness of chalk,
It's hard for little girls to grow strong,
When the air they breathe is toxic,
Engulfed in the smog of racism.
You can taste it.
It's so thick, so heavy.
It sends shivers up your spine,
Terror around every corner.
You grab your little sister by the hand,
And tell her it's time to run,
Because school has let out,
And we have to make it home.
We run up our front steps,
Panting, out of breath.
I turn to her and smile,
And say, "Let's play school!"
She smiles and nods her head.
We enter the front door of our house,
And head straight to the back room,
Our playroom.
Filled with toys and board games,
But in the middle sits,
The objects she and I play with
The most,
An old student desk our Father,
Found in a dumpster,
And the chalkboard,
That Santa brought us,
Hanging on the wall.
My sister sits down at the desk,
And carefully lays out her notebook,
And her prized Scooby Doo pencil case.
Excited to learn.
I am her teacher.
I teach my 2nd grade sister,
All of my 5th grade lessons.
She loves to learn,
I beam with pride.
I pick up the chalk,
Hold it to the chalkboard,
And begin writing lessons,
For my sister.
© A.C. Magwood