Glue was the only thing
That anyone valued
When no one was over
Five feet tall.
And then
There was
The Kindergarten
Teacher, who tied her hair up
In a bun
-her hair, was, as the Spanish say, moreno-
Her name was Mrs.
Though years ago we didn't remember names
Just faces.
But besides Mrs.
Or that Kindergarten place
We always made crafts.
Crafts that overflowed
The bin they gave you,
Crafts with noodles,
And paints,
And crayons,
And glue.
Not to forget
Those notebook pages
That were always wasted
Fast as possible.
With their sparkly covered pages
That's barely white.
What a shame
It is.
That we no longer have
Those bottles of glue
That had coated every surface
That glue that dried clear
And smelled like
Childhood.
YOU ARE READING
Part the World
Poetrythey called him a child and disordered for wanting to get out a series of poems meant to bridge the gap between the night sky and the blue ocean. from many people who have seen both and are hoping to change the entire world with words alone. they s...
