Abstract
"On a radiant Monday morning in May, I am at the middle school, waiting to see who I have today for In School Suspension. Minivans are pulling up in front, and I open the window and let the breeze blow in the first image of the poem I will spend the day writing. It's a windy day, and everything is in motion, clouds, trees, kids heading into their day at school. Using my fingers to count out syllables, I find the words for my first line, in iambic pentameter. The day's sonnet is underway […]"
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