Brown Girl Dreaming StoryBoard

The reason i chose this poem was, because when my grandma was dying i wanted to tell her all about the things we did. I had some connections in this poem that really stood out. I wanted to tell her how loud the basketball games were and everything. I wanted to tell her how I did and how I did. I wanted to tell her the few words you wish you would have said before she passed. Its just how me and her wish we could tell them all about things. Some people dont care or are not close to there grandparents or anything but I am and when they past its hard.

It is early spring

when my grandmother sends for us.

Warm enough to believe again

that food will come from the newly thawed earth.

This is the weather, my mother says, daddy loved to garden in. We arrive

not long before my grandfather is about to take

his last breaths,

breathless ourselves from our first ride

in an airplane.

I want to tell him all about it

how loud it was when the plane lifted into the sky,

each of us, leaning toward the window,

watching New York

grow small and speckled beneath us.

How the meals arrived

on tiny trays-some kind of fish that none of us ate.

I want to tell him how the stewardess gave us wings

to pin to our blouses and shirts and told Mama

we were beautiful and well behaved. But

my grandfather is sleeping when we come to his bedside,

opens his eyes only to smile, turns so that my grandmother

can press ice cubes against his lips. She tells us,

He needs his rest now. That evening

he dies.

On the day that he is buried, my sister and I wear white dresses,

the boys in white shirts and ties.

We walked slowly through Nicholtown, a long parade

of people

who loved him-Hope,Dell, Roman and me

leading it. This is how we bury our dead-a silent parade

through the streets, showing the world our sadness, others

who knew my grandfather joining in on the walk,

children waving,

grown-ups dabbing at their eyes.

Ashes to ashes, we say at the grave site

with each handful of dirt we drop gently onto

his lowering casket.

We will see you in the by and by, we say.

we will see you in the by and by.

We get to see him for the last time unless we visit the grave.

Daddy

The reason i chose this poem was, because when my grandma was dying i wanted to tell her all about the things we did. I had some connections in this poem that really stood out. I wanted to tell her how loud the basketball games were and everything. I wanted to tell her how I did and how I did. I wanted to tell her the few words you wish you would have said before she passed. Its just how me and her wish we could tell them all about things. Some people dont care or are not close to there grandparents or anything but I am and when they past its hard.

It is early spring

when my grandmother sends for us.

Warm enough to believe again

that food will come from the newly thawed earth.

This is the weather, my mother says, daddy loved to garden in. We arrive

not long before my grandfather is about to take

his last breaths,

breathless ourselves from our first ride

in an airplane.

I want to tell him all about it

how loud it was when the plane lifted into the sky,

each of us, leaning toward the window,

watching New York

grow small and speckled beneath us.

How the meals arrived

on tiny trays-some kind of fish that none of us ate.

I want to tell him how the stewardess gave us wings

to pin to our blouses and shirts and told Mama

we were beautiful and well behaved. But

my grandfather is sleeping when we come to his bedside,

opens his eyes only to smile, turns so that my grandmother

can press ice cubes against his lips. She tells us,

He needs his rest now. That evening

he dies.

On the day that he is buried, my sister and I wear white dresses,

the boys in white shirts and ties.

We walked slowly through Nicholtown, a long parade

of people

who loved him-Hope,Dell, Roman and me

leading it. This is how we bury our dead-a silent parade

through the streets, showing the world our sadness, others

who knew my grandfather joining in on the walk,

children waving,

grown-ups dabbing at their eyes.

Ashes to ashes, we say at the grave site

with each handful of dirt we drop gently onto

his lowering casket.

We will see you in the by and by, we say.

we will see you in the by and by.

We get to see him for the last time unless we visit the grave.

Daddy

The reason i chose this poem was, because when my grandma was dying i wanted to tell her all about the things we did. I had some connections in this poem that really stood out. I wanted to tell her how loud the basketball games were and everything. I wanted to tell her how I did and how I did. I wanted to tell her the few words you wish you would have said before she passed. Its just how me and her wish we could tell them all about things. Some people dont care or are not close to there grandparents or anything but I am and when they past its hard.

It is early spring

when my grandmother sends for us.

Warm enough to believe again

that food will come from the newly thawed earth.

This is the weather, my mother says, daddy loved to garden in. We arrive

not long before my grandfather is about to take

his last breaths,

breathless ourselves from our first ride

in an airplane.

I want to tell him all about it

how loud it was when the plane lifted into the sky,

each of us, leaning toward the window,

watching New York

grow small and speckled beneath us.

How the meals arrived

on tiny trays-some kind of fish that none of us ate.

I want to tell him how the stewardess gave us wings

to pin to our blouses and shirts and told Mama

we were beautiful and well behaved. But

my grandfather is sleeping when we come to his bedside,

opens his eyes only to smile, turns so that my grandmother

can press ice cubes against his lips. She tells us,

He needs his rest now. That evening

he dies.

On the day that he is buried, my sister and I wear white dresses,

the boys in white shirts and ties.

We walked slowly through Nicholtown, a long parade

of people

who loved him-Hope,Dell, Roman and me

leading it. This is how we bury our dead-a silent parade

through the streets, showing the world our sadness, others

who knew my grandfather joining in on the walk,

children waving,

grown-ups dabbing at their eyes.

Ashes to ashes, we say at the grave site

with each handful of dirt we drop gently onto

his lowering casket.

We will see you in the by and by, we say.

we will see you in the by and by.

We get to see him for the last time unless we visit the grave.

Daddy