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My Poetry Portfolio

My Poetry Portfolio. Mrs. Michel 2011-2012. Getting Started. In your writing portfolio, write about a time that you learned how to do something (at least 1/2 page). It could be something that you learned how to do when you were young or something more recent.

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My Poetry Portfolio

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  1. My Poetry Portfolio Mrs. Michel 2011-2012

  2. Getting Started • In your writing portfolio, write about a time that you learned how to do something (at least 1/2 page). • It could be something that you learned how to do when you were young or something more recent. • Think of a learning experience that made an impression on you.

  3. What you learned: • Some examples can include when you learned to: fish, play guitar, do a back flip into the pool, drive a stick shift, catch a football, saddle a horse, change the oil in a car, read, ride a bicycle, beat a videogame, play lacrosse, keep a secret, trick your mom, change a diaper, get free candy from a vending machine, shoot free throws, bake a cake, waterski, fix the garbage disposal, land an ollie, paint, braid hair….

  4. On Hunger • He thinks he knows what hungry is. He thinks he knows • how to decieve. He thinks himself a student • of color and shape, a student of the seasons — • he knows the water’s still too cold for Mayflies • to be hatching yet. He knows how to be careful, • that his line can cast a shadow should the sun break • through the clouds and that a single suspect shadow • will trip silent alarms. He knows • that we are careful, too. There is no bravado • in survivors’ genes. He thinks that he is patient, • that the wait for that one moment • of transubstantiation — his hand, this art, • his false gift swallowed whole — he will always • proudly endure. He thinks he knows what hungry is.

  5. Madame Helia’s • The spotlight sun sliced by Venetian blinds • imitates itself on every mirrored wall. • Long necks boast elegant faces, fair like magnolias. • They glance with graceful nonchalance at me, then back, • with unvocalized but audible snickers • whose volume grand jetes above the Schubert that plays. • One long braid tied with an unsure bow • of borrowed white satin, my black leotard, pink tights— • once opaque but suddenly transparent— • brandish the wrong tag, the wrong size, • my body, bruised knees, fine summer-blonde hairs, now coarse • I follow tempered steps, swallow staccato breaths • while the girls adage like elegant scissors • across the polished floor of Madame Helia’s.

  6. Parental Task #2 • Newborn babies sh*t crude oil. Literally, • Deepwater Horizon is spewinginto the diaperless Gulf each day60,000 barrels of the stuffI wipe from my baby's a** five times every day: • Stabilize the explosion with jingling keys. • Disengage the adhesive tabs. • Peel back my pampered boy's oozing shell. • Reach for moist cloths to clean up the mess. • Skim black sludge from his butt, his thigh, our coral couch. • Apply a new harness and fasten. • No, no. Flick your wrist to open the fresh diaper • while minding the squirming well with the other hand, • a trick perfected through each successive crisis.

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