On Kindergarten by Mark Chartier
by Juan J. Morales
Hi, I’m Juan J. Morales, an assistant professor of English at Colorado College and a poet in Pueblo, Colorado, here for Poets on the Plains. Today, I’m excited to share with you a poem by fellow Pueblo poet, Mark Chartier, titled, “Kindergarten.”
The poem appears in Mark’s second collection of poetry, titled, Tell Me Something Good, a finalist for the 2025 Colorado Book Award. Amongst other experiences, his collection centers on his job as a special education teacher, who suffers Tourette’s syndrome, brain injury, and speech/visual impairments. The book not only shows his talent for compassionately connecting with his students, but it also reminds us of the challenges and breakthroughs our teachers regularly encounter in the classroom.
Trigger warning: the poem has references to abuse, drug use, addiction, and concerns with mental health, but it also brings us to where bravery and vulnerability dance around us. It reminds us to listen and to slow down. It unfolds to mimic a shy and scared child finding the courage to open up upon discovering themself to be in a place of safety, learning, and support.
As you listen to Mark’s poem, I encourage you to follow his lead and to take a moment to think about your own good things.
Kindergarten
Elicia, the first day of school, you were facedown
on the floor
crying in front of my classroom
talking in gasps
of tears too old to be your own
saying that it was your mom’s boyfriend.
“It was all him.”
I laid down on the floor next to you,
my eyes teaming with yours.
You wouldn’t answer me with words,
Go ahead and touch this hand
if you want to come to my classroom and talk,
or this hand if you want me to give you space.
Your classroom teacher told me that no one would believe
the amount of meth your mom smoked
and heroin she intra-veined
when you were in utero
as your eyes would la la la down the hallway
laces loosening
your fingers gnawing at the staples holding
first-person narratives from the 1st graders on the bulletin boards,
your hair plopping
from shoulder to shoulder
in the tick of a second’s hand.
You’ve come to my classroom for 60 minutes every day since.
We usually work on reading or math
but it’s all life.
We start off with “Good Things” when I usually say
My Good Thing is that I get to teach awesome kids like you.
Your mouth jawing open
as if you’re about to ask if I’m lying.
Never leave your dreams behind.
Dear Perseverance, you took what God gave you
and made it even better.
Yes, you write your numbers from the bottom up,
but you still learned how to count 1-10
by jumping out each number.
You still learned how to decode consonant-vowel-consonant words
as though you wrote them yourself.
Sound it out.
“/w/ /i/ /g/?”
Mr. C. needs a…?
“Wig!”
And how your eyes time
when you call me crazy
because I sing “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” in class
or re-enact the lifeboat scene between Rose and Jack in “Titanic”
Jackkkkkk! Jackkkkkkk!
Tourette-ing my neck with every gush,
you volley,
“Why do you do that Mr. C.?”
Because I get nervous.
“Why are you nervous?
You are a textbook blur between patience and hope
when you ask, “Are you a daddy, Mr. C.?”
The veins in your cheeks growing more apparent,
your bangs touching your eyebrows
and the fuzz on your forearms the other students like to riddle
as you sit smart in your chair
“My Good Thing is that I like Christmas,
Valentine’s Day,
and Mr. C.’s Birthday
and that’s it.”
It’s the last day of school,
and you’re tipping toes by my kidney table
story-eyed as you ask me what we are going to do today.
the expression on your face lucid
like a flame finding its shape,
You tell me your mom’s boyfriend finally moved out.
“You can’t make an apple hang like a peach.”
I ask you to draw a picture about what you’re going to do this summer.
after about five minutes, you walk up to me with your drawing.
Tell me about it…
You comma in the moment,
hoist your head,
and point.
“It’s a picture of you
and my mom
looking up
at the stars.”
Kindergarten used with permission.
Thank you for being with us for Poets on the Plains. I’m Juan J. Morales, coming to you from Pueblo, Colorado.
POETS ON THE PLAINS HOST
Juan J. Morales is the son of an Ecuadorian mother and Puerto Rican father and grew up in Colorado. He is the author of four poetry collections, including The Handyman’s Guide to End Times and his latest, Dream of the Bird Tattoo, published by the University of New Mexico Press. Recent poems have appeared in The Laurel Review, Breakbeats Vol. 4 LatiNEXT, Acentos Review, terrain.org, South Dakota Review, Sugar House Review, and Poetry. Morales has received fellowships from CantoMundo, Macondo, Longleaf Writers Conference, and he has served as the editor/publisher of Pilgrimage Press. He lives in Pueblo, Colorado and is an Assistant Professor of English at Colorado College. https://www.unmpress.com/9780826367587/dream-of-the-bird-tattoo/
FEATURED POET
Mark Chartier developed symptoms of Tourette’s syndrome when he was seven years old and demonstrated significant behaviors throughout school. He persevered thanks to positive relationships with school staff. He earned a BA in English at Colorado State University-Pueblo, where he discovered his love for writing, and two master’s degrees at the University of Colorado, Colorado Springs despite suffering from newly diagnosed disabilities including a brain injury and a significant stutter. He now teaches special education in southern Colorado and gives motivational speeches, sharing his triumphs as a student with disabilities and how they led him to become a teacher of students with disabilities. Mark’s second collection of poetry, Tell Me Something Good, was a finalist for the 2025 Colorado Book Award. His first, Fingerprints, was published in 2018. His work has also appeared in The Awakenings Review, Pilgrimage, LIGHT, and The Volney Road Review. For more information, please visit: www.teacherwithtourettes.com
