Purple

In first grade
Mrs. Lohr said
my purple teepee
wasn’t realistic enough
that purple was no color
for a tent,
that purple was a color
for people who died,
that my drawing
wasn’t good enough to hang
with the others.

I walked back to my seat
counting the swish swish swishes
of my baggy corduroy trousers.
With a black crayon
nightfall came to my purple tent
in the middle of an afternoon.

In second grade
Mr. Barta said draw anything,
he didn’t care what.

I left my paper blank
and when he came around
to my desk
my heartbeat like a tom-tom.
He touched my head
with his big hand
and in a soft voice said
the snowfall
how clean
and white
and beautiful.