My Cardboard Balcony

I Thank My Third Grade Teacher by Belinda Roddie I thank my third grade teacher, who inspired me to pick up a pen and start to write. I thank the public servants who have been there for me every day and every night. I thank my peers and professors who stood beside me when I battled through my youth. I thank my family who never would abandon me when worry took its root. I thank the doctors, nurses, soldiers, clerks, bus drivers, those who put their lives on hold to see that people like me can succeed and spark the flames that reignite my goals. And any politician who proclaims that I did it on my own is insane.

Oh my darlings, drink sweet lemonade under the porch lights and count moths all night. See how many of them dazzle silver or are milky brown under velvet skies. I would love to see you once again smiling as the winter comes and we drink hot cocoa. But for now, the moon hangs in a warm pocket of the summer evening while we kick our shoes off and the stars are braces for our exposed teeth and we cuddle.