Kulia had a writer come to her class to teach poetry. This is what she brought home….
I know my classroom.
The smell of fresh paper,
The smell of lead on a pencil,
The smell of jolly ranchers.
I know my classroom.
The sound of a pencil moving on paper,
The sound of books opening and closing,
Sneakers squeaking.
I know my classroom.
“Turn to page five,”
“Time for Mrs. Tricky!”
“Line up!”
I know my classroom.