I remember walking into kindergarden class,
it was a rainy,
gray,
day,
Wearing my yellow, wet raincoat.
Stepping off the plane,
Seeing exotic things,
That I have never laid eyes on,
I was only seven years old,
Thought I had seen all the beauties in the world,
I was wrong.
I’ve smelled the most greenest grasses,
Smelled the beautiful, yet mysterious essence,
Of this strange, tropical world,
I have seen the native people of this country,
I was in Honduras.
I have traveled to El Salvador,
In search of my sister and brother,
I have eaten a
Delicious,
Mouth-watering,
Warm,
Cheesy,
Pupusa,
While drinking a
Sweet,
Sour,
Beverage called “Fresco de Mora,”
Blackberry Juice.
I have walked on my grandfather’s ranch,
Feeling out of place,
Confused,
Scared,
An American compared to my relatives.
I have rode on a beautiful, brown horse,
I have felt the warmth of chickens,
In between my palms.
I remember walking into kindergarden class,
like it was yesterday.
WRITER'S STATEMENT: I like poems that talk about poetry and this is one I wrote about why I write poems. It acknowledges that writing is a risky, even dangerous endeavor (it takes up your time; it might fail; you might embarrass yourself; you're expressing something you might be afraid to show others...) "Graffiti Artist" came from a moment when I was on the LIRR and I saw a spray painted message in a really difficult place to get to that wished some anonymous "Dianne" a happy anniversary. It made me think about the tremendous desire that person had to express himself and the risks he took to do it (unlike the writer of the graffiti in the photo above). The phrase "I know" in the poem is so important to me that I gave it its own line. It's the moment that the speaker, passing by on his journey, identifies with another writer and shares in the understanding of what drives one to write.