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Monday, July 14, 2008

Sonnet CXCVI

When six years old, my hands were quickly taught
to write in printing first. My b’s were d’s
(I mixed them up), but still I persevered.
The more I wrote, the neater letters got.
Amanuensis to my teacher’s scrawl,
when eight years old, my eyes saw cursive b’s
and copied them, enslaved to lettering.
And quickly, cursive writing stole my paws,
and everything I wrote was cursive script.
I kept on writing cursively in school,
for teachers never said which one to pick,
until one day my penmanship was whipped
by criticism. Mr. Scott said, cruel,
that cursive was too messy.
                                        Back I switched.

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A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.

I say it just
Begins to live
That day.

- Emily Dickinson

Thanks, Wordle!