Turtle Came to See Me

The first story I ever write

is a bright crayon picture

of a dancing tree, the branches

tossed by island wind.

I draw myself standing beside the tree,

with a colorful parrot soaring above me,

and a magical turtle clasped in my hand,

and two yellow wings fluttering

on the proud shoulders of my ruffled

Cuban rumba dancer's

fancy dress.

In my California kindergarten class,

the teacher scolds me: REAL TREES

DON'T LOOK LIKE THAT.

It's the moment

when I first

begin to learn

that teachers

can be wrong.

They have never seen

the dancing plants

of Cuba.

- Margarita Engle