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32 My Second-Grade Teacher Reads Gerard Manley Hopkins At art time, we crafted Christmas paper, careful-kept, reborn as tissue kites. Tethered rainbows with tattered tails climbed into March, darted and leapt over playground minions. A hawk on thermals glided, soared, swooped among the kites, winged away, climbed high to wheel and hover, all below transfixed. Back inside, teacher plucked a book from her shelf of verse, “Listen with your heart,” she said. “Ride the words like a hawk rides the wind or kites dance free.” So I rode words that galloped on springs, swept off, soared again, fell into now, cloaked in vermilion, newest in my heart-cache of words. ...

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