Author Archives: Annie Campbell

The poetry in our life can be coy.  It hides and waits to be found.  It demands that we have world enough and time enough to look.  It can be found in the leafy green of the trees now that … Continue reading →

Where have you found poetry? Then. I found poetry spilling out of my first box of 64 Crayons.  Suddenly buildings weren’t red, they were brick red; dirt wasn’t brown, it was burnt sienna; a sunset sky wasn’t orange, it was … Continue reading →

Life is poetry. There are moments that stand alone: each one a perfect phrase with notable, quotable timelessness.  “This,” we say to ourselves,  “This I will remember.” There are the shyer, less showy moments that come and go without fanfare.  … Continue reading →

Bumper Stickers tell a simple personal truth. A truth-telling bumper sticker might be “We Brake for Barbecue.” I’m not sure there really is such a bumper sticker, but I know that over the years we have Braked for Barbecue many … Continue reading →

They came into Room 204 one by one on Friday.  They came on poster board, on canvas, on construction paper, and on parchment.  They came  in collage, in acrylic, in marker, in crayon.  They spoke through letters, through quotes, and … Continue reading →

I was skeptical. This year I decided to teach memoir for the first time. I wondered if it would work. I begin every new project the same way: I take a fresh file folder (a promise of good to come) … Continue reading →

Just over a week ago the snow melted into daffodils.   My husband and I took advantage of the springlike day and walked to Millie’s for brunch. A young couple sat next to us and read The New Yorker.  Each … Continue reading →

I recognized the red dress with its prim white collar right away.  I’d seen her on the Bisquick box a hundred times.  I was five when I spotted Betty Crocker in the snack bar on an Army base in  Germany. … Continue reading →

We are learning that memoir is the story of a moment– a moment that begins with a scrap of memory.  My memoir begins with a scrap of green fabric with a tiny white design. We arrived in Cairo in June, … Continue reading →

I  prayed every night that I wouldn’t get Mrs. Shepherd for third grade.  She was old.   I wanted the young pretty teacher who taught next door.  We all did. I learned about unanswered prayer as I was directed to Room … Continue reading →