He always tried to say things,
But the teacher always said it was time
for him to be quiet.
"Stop your stuttering!"
He always seemed to have just one more question.
The teacher never had enough time to answer,
so he wrote words and drew pictures of what he wanted to say.
Sometimes he would just scribble.
Once when I walked by his desk in the corner,
I saw a picture of sky and trees and grass—
a few words describing it.
It really made me feel good as I read.
His eyes smiled at me through thick glasses.
After that, every time he would sit in the corner,
I would ask to sharpen my pencil,
so I could go by and see
what nice things he had drawn or written.
I think he knew I liked his pictures and reading what he wrote,
and I think I liked him.
One day the teacher said he couldn't draw, or write his own words…
He had to learn how to make a square box.
“That's what I want you to do!”
She took away his paper and pencil… gave him some brown square paper.
He sat looking at the square brown paper, not drawing.
The teacher in an unfriendly voice said,"Why don't you make a nice square box like Jimmy?"
Instead, when she wasn't looking, he found a yellow marker and drew a sun.
When she saw it…she was mad.
She took away his yellow marker.
She took away his bright yellow sun,
and his smile.
He moved away that summer.
I never saw him again.
Some say he became a teacher of English and creative writing.
Does anyone know whatever became of the kid that sat in the corner?
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