One might say that I
started out with
all the wrong cards.
Poor parents.
Absent dad.
Little to do in the world
but become the very picture
of my parents before me.
How does one break free
of the cards one has
been dealt?
In sixth grade, my English teacher
told me I had a talent for
dreaming up stories.
In seventh grade, my English teacher
drilled me on proper grammar
and punctuation and spelling,
said I had a gift.
In eighth grade, my English teacher
told me she wanted me to do
some extra writing work,
to develop my emerging skill.
In ninth grade, my English teacher
took my essay on Dickens and
read it to the class while I hid out
in the bathroom, mortified.
He tacked it to the board
as an example of a good critical essay.
In tenth grade, my English teacher
gave me a list of books
I’d need to read
to become a better writer,
said it was optional,
no grade attached.
I read them all.
In eleventh grade, my school counselor
gave me a college application
and said, No pressure.
It requires an essay.
I wrote eight hundred words
that night, used the story
of my parents’ divorce
to prove that all bad deals
could be turned
into good ones.
The trick to life, you see,
is playing a
poor hand well.
This is an excerpt from Textbook of an Ordinary Life: poems. For more of Rachel’s poems, visit her Reader Library page, where you can get a few volumes for free.
(Photo by Soroush Karimi on Unsplash)
