Category: Cattafi

Poems that I am proud of

In Humanities, we have been learning about a lot of poetry. Here are three of my favorite poems that I wrote:

Though we have come far

Though we have come far,

We have much farther to go.

For one’s gender must not decide one’s pay.

Or one’s talent.

For we should come so far,

That we laugh at the insane and distant thought of certain genders having certain jobs

Laugh at the horrid thought of gender inequality

Just being a distant memory

Too far in the past

But something to learn from

While going in the future

For it’s so unbelievable to think,

That there are so many instances where gender is a limit,

And though we’ve come far,

We can’t stop until every gender is equal.

My inspiration behind this poem was I wanted to write a poem that was more of a speech, and less poetic. I decided to write about a topic that I really care about, which is sexism. I think my poem has repetition, and is a narrative poem. I’m really proud of this poem because I think it sends a message.

The Glass Ceiling

They’re standing up there,                                                                      

Triumphantly

I wonder,

How did this happen?

If I had been born differently, would it be different?

Would I be triumphant?
Instead of sitting here,

Watching their success.

Their happiness.

Their non-existent sorrow.

Why are they standing there?

Not even breaking a sweat,

While I’m down here, sweating hard,

Earning 79 cents to their dollar.

I would raise my voice if I thought it would make any difference.

But as I look up at them, and they work unseeingly, I realize,

They feel no remorse for me,

Or anyone else down here.

They only care for their own prosperity,

That should have been mine.

They say I’m not working hard enough,

Deep down, I’m wondering if it’s true,

If they really are working harder than I am,

And as I sit beneath them,

I ask myself why

I’m looking up at a glass ceiling, while they look at the sky.

My inspiration for this poem was that I really wanted to write a poem about gender inequality. I think it doesn’t have very many elements of poetry, except for imagery. I am very proud of this poem because I think it is very powerful, and I also just really love the way it sounds.

 

Pages

Pages,

Some of plenty,

Some, quite lacking color,

Some, tasty, deep and meaningful,

All loved

My inspiration  behind this poem was I really wanted to write a poem about books, and it happened to be on the same day that we wrote Cinquains, so I decided to write a Cinquain about books. In my poem, there is a lot of repetition. I think my poem turned out very well. I really like how it lists the different qualities of books.

 

Shabanu News

In Humanities, we all got into groups and were asked to make newscasts and newspaper articles based on Shabanu. Stella, Eli, Emma and I decided to make an Obituary section. We made Obituarys for Auntie’s baby and grandpa. In our newscast, we interviewed both Shabanu and Auntie and made commercials to go with everything.

Here is the Shabanu movie:

Shabanu Movie 2 – Small (2)

Here is the Shabanu Obituarys:

JINDWADDA, 60

 

Jindwadda Ali Abbasi died yesterday. He died in peace. He died because of a sandstorm in Pakistan, and he died a few days later, because of the effect. We can’t be one hundred percent certain, but Jindwadda was very injured during the sandstorm. It’s a miracle that he even survived. He was found outside, and conscious but asked specifically to be buried in Derawar, but unfortunately, his request couldn’t be fulfilled. Jindwadda died in the night about 10 days after the sandstorm. “I want to die at Derawar” his family remember him saying.

 

Grandpa fought in the war between Pakistan and Afghanistan. He fought hard for his country, and we will take today to appreciate his hard work in the army, and be sure that his death has been noticed.

 

INFANT, 0

 

Auntie’s baby died in the womb from technical issues. He was suffocated by the umbilical cord. “It was another boy,” Her sister says after the death. The midwife who tried to help is Shahzada’s sister, who is a family friend of the Abbasi’s. Shahzada used herbs and powders to help, but unfortunately it was too late to save the baby. According to witnesses, the state of the mother was frightening, for the color in her eyes was not visible. After the death of the baby, Auntie was said to have slept peacefully in a green tunic. The baby was buried, and the birth was never spoken of again. According to family, the mother’s pregnancy was unknown to everyone except possibly the father. Auntie did in fact show signs of pregnancy, such as tiredness, weakness and gaining weight. Shabanu did have suspicions about the pregnancy, but thought it might be rude to mention it.

 

The mother herself is the spouse of a man who works in a government office and makes a very good salary, and sends her gifts. Her husband, Mr. Abbasi,  is away a lot, and most people would even say that she’s lonely, but it brings her to joy the few times that her husband does come home. Mr. Abbasi is the brother of Dalil Abbasi, who is the spouse of Auntie’s sister. She is the mother of two lovely sons, ages three and five who are just starting to learn how to do work on the farm. When Auntie was at the age for marriage, she and her father went into search for a good husband. At first, they were unsuccessful, but after searching for a reasonable amount of time, she finally found her one and only husband. Shabanu, Auntie’s niece says, “Uncle comes several times a year, bringing Auntie gifts-quilts, shawls and brass pots. He brings us vegetables, wheat and lentils.”

 

Margaret’s Shabanu Blog Post

New Child

I am very exited, for I am going to give birth to a child in a month and a bit. I have been preying for a boy every day. I can’t even begin to explain how I would feel if it wasn’t another boy. If I had a boy, they would be able to herd animals and do farm work. I don’t even know how my sister deals with the fact that she had daughters. And TWO! I just don’t understand why Allah hates her so much. Allah has blessed me with two sons, who will be married to beautiful women. Oh how excited I am. I really hope that my boys will get along with my future child, and if it is a boy, hopefully my children will teach him to do work.

If it is a daughter, I will know that I did something wrong. I have tried to be on my best behavior so that Allah will bless me with boys. I have been restraining my self from saying rude comments to my sister and my nieces,but it’s SOOO hard! Oh how exited I am to give birth to a boy, and then I can stop being on my best behavior.

Margaret’s Shabanu Blog Post

IMG_20160502_102739How To Sew Silk:

I have been spending all of my time lately sewing silk garments for my two wonderful sons. When they grow older, I will teach their wives to sew silk as well, so I can start sewing garments that I can wear, while their wives will sew beautiful garments for them. I decided to teach you some of my techniques, for it is said that I am quite talented at sewing.

First, you must wash your silk fabric in soapy water that is over a fire. Choose the color silk that you most appreciate. I love yellow silk. This water should be sweet instead of salty, so you should try the water before using it.

Then, you must rinse the silk with cold water that is sweet. Before rinsing the silk, you must add in some sirka  to the water as well. Then rinse it a second time, this time with no sirka and just cold water.

If you have a clothesline, you must dry it on the clothesline. You should try and dry it out when it is windy, but you must make sure that there are no sandstorms coming your way before you dry it off, for your silk will be ruined.

Then, choose out your needle. It should be thin and sharp, so that it doesn’t leave holes inside of the fabric.

When you are choosing your thread, you must choose thread to match your fabric. I always use yellow thread, and I suggest you use yellow too.

You must wash your hands in warm, sweet water before sewing your fabric. If you don’t, it will get quite dirty.

Next, you must hand-baste the silk pieces together. Hand-basting is a technique of using long, loose stitches to hold fabric together and make sewing easier. This is good for people who are starting out sewing. This is very time consuming so I would suggest having a cup of milk tea by your side to drink. You also must sew at a steady slow pace.

Last, you must finish the seams, and wear it as you wish.

 

 

 

 

My Poem

To submit to the Brooklyn Public Library, Zoe and I decided to write a poem. It is called The Glass Ceiling. It is about one of the 8th graders workshops, that was about women in the workplace. In that workshop, there was a lot of talking about the glass ceiling. The glass ceiling is basically a limit for women that is not there for men when it comes to work. If someone has to choose between women and men for a job, they are more likely to chose men. I decided to write about this in my poem. My poem is about a women looking up at a metaphorical glass ceiling. She is looking up at men, while the men are doing so many different things, while she is sitting below them, doing the same work that they are but she isn’t getting paid as much as the other men. She is questioning if she was a different gender, if she would be up there with all of the other men, or if she would still be down under them metaphorically. Here is my first draft of my poem:

They’re standing up there,

Triumphantly

When I wonder,

How did this happen?

If I had been born differently, would it be different?

Would I be standing up there, triumphantly?
Instead of sitting here,

Watching their success, that could have been mine

While I’m down here, sweating hard.

Why are they standing there,

Doing the same work that I am,

They say I’m not working hard enough,

That they are.

I wish I could at least say that’s not true

That I don’t believe everything I hear

Deep down, I’m wondering if it’s true

If they really are sweating harder than me

I know I should think that what they say isn’t true,

That I am working harder than them,

But as I sit under them,

I wonder if it is why

I’m looking up at a glass ceiling and they look at the sky

 

And here is my final draft:

They’re standing up there,

Triumphantly

I wonder,

How did this happen?

If I had been born differently, would it be different?

Would I be triumphant?
Instead of sitting here,

Watching their success.

Their happiness.

Their non-existent sorrow.

Why are they standing there?

Not even breaking a sweat,

While I’m down here, sweating hard,

Earning 79 cents to their dollar.

I would raise my voice if I thought it would make any difference.

But as I look up at them, and they work unseeingly, I realize,

They feel no remorse for me,

Or anyone else down here.

They only care for their own prosperity,

That should have been mine.

They say I’m not working hard enough,

Deep down, I’m wondering if it’s true,

If they really are working harder than I am,

And as I sit beneath them,

I ask myself why,

I’m looking up at a glass ceiling, while they look at the sky.

I think this poem really inspired me to do more poetry. This poem signifies some of my best work, and I am very proud of it.

 

My “Who the Heck are You” Piece

In Humanities, we are doing a writing piece called “Who the Heck are You?” It is where we each chose a person to interview, and we decide on questions to ask them about their backstory, and then maybe even decide on some followup questions to ask. After you have recorded your interview with your person, you write an article about them. After you write your article, you write a blog post about how the whole project went. I chose Robin Pianoforte, at the front desk. I decided to interview her because I don’t really know a lot about her backstory. I am really excited to get to interview her and learn a lot about her.

My Trotula Presentation

In Humanities, we did a project that I really enjoyed. We all got into groups and chose one famous women from the middle ages, and made a presentation about them. I got to be the leader of that group, and I think I did better as a leader. My group did Trotula. Trotula was a famous doctor in the middle ages, who specializes in midwifery and gynecology. I worked with Marlowe and Stella, and we decided to do a play. I was very proud of this project because I think that we found a way to make the play funny, but also teach the audience something. Here is the script for the play that Marlowe, Stella and I wrote:
Narrator: Trotula was a very famous doctor in the middle ages. She lived for approximately 40 years, from 1050-1090. She was born as a noble, where she was expected to be waited on, and try on gowns, but she wanted to do more.

(Trotula and her dad are sitting at the table)

Trotula’s Dad: Trotula, it’s time for you to go get fitted for your gown. Your appointment started 5 minutes ago.

Trotula: No! I was hoping to go take a tour of the University of Salerno. I want to be a doctor!

Trotula’s Dad: (Laughs) Oh Trotula. You were always such a jester.

Trotula: No I’m serious. I actually want to be a doctor.

Trotula’s Dad: Fine You may go do your little tour, but be back by supper.

Narrator: It was hard for Trotula to be a doctor, because people didn’t believe that Trotula would follow through with her dreams.

(Trotula is at the University of Salerno)

Trotula I’m so excited to take the tour of the University of Salerno! I wonder where the tour guide is?

(Trotula sees tour guide)

Trotula: Oh, I was looking for the-

Tour guide: Ma’am, your husband will be back in a few hours, if you want you can wait here.

Trotula: No, I’m here for the tour!

(Tour guide looks at list)

Tour guide: Oh! You’re Trotula? Come right this way.

Narrator: When Trotula got into the University of Salerno she took a lot of courses on Midwifery and Gynecology.

(Trotula is sitting in class surrounded by boys)

Teacher: Many Midwifes learned their professions from their own mothers with knowledge passed down from generation to generation. Frequently, a midwife attended as many as three hundred births each year.

Narrator: She also read a lot of books by famous physicians, such as Hippocrates.

(Trotula reading a book by Hippocrates for whole scene)

Hippocrates: Healing is a matter of time, but it is sometimes also a matter of opportunity

Trotula: I could have thought of that!

Narrator: At the University of Salerno, Trotula met a man named John Platearius, who was also a doctor. She married him and had two kids named Matteo and John Junior. Usually, when women had kids, it held them back in their career, but for Trotula it did the opposite. Trotula kept practicing medicine and treating patients.

(Trotula is sitting in a chair helping a patient)

(The patient is coughing)

Trotula: You must use water to clean your hands, five times a day. John Junior, would you go get the soap please?

(John Junior goes and brings back a bar of soap and gives it to the patient)

Patient: Oh! I’ve never heard that before! Whose advice is it to wash your hands?

Trotula: It was my idea. Washing your hands takes the germs away, which keeps you healthy!

Patient: Um… Okay… I guess I’ll wash my hands five times a day? Thank you?

Narrator: When Trotula’s sons grew up, they too were interested in medicine and were proud of their parents. Trotula then wrote very useful books including The Compounding of Medicine and The Diseases of Women and Their Cure. These books were read by tons of people. Trotula inspired generations of women to become doctors.

(Inspired women is reading Trotula’s book for whole scene)

Trotula: “when you visit a patient you need to ask where they have a pain, you need to take their pulse, you need to touch their forehead to see whether there is a fever and you need to ask whether they have shivers. Look at the expression on their faces and see and feel whether the abdomen is treatable , whether there is ease in urination, and give to each patient great attention.”

Inspired women: Wow! Trotula’s a genius!

Narrator: Lots of women to come went to the University of Salerno, and were not discriminated against as women.

Inspired Women: Greetings! I’m here for the-

Tour guide: Oh! You’re here for the tour! Come right this way!

Narrator: Trotula died of an unknown cause, but her ideas and knowledge lives on!

Margaret’s 2nd Quarter Reflection

Something that I am really proud of is my Thanksgiving piece. I think I put a lot of work into it and it payed off when I got to share it at the Thanksgiving assembly. I learned that the longer I spend on something the better it ends up coming out. I will continue to do this in the future to improve my work.

Here’s my Thanksgiving piece:

I wake up to the annoying sound of my alarm beeping. I slowly sit up to check the time. My phone reads 7 AM. Why did I set to my alarm to 7:00 in the morning? I never set my alarm clock period. I grab my phone and gaze into the screen, the light stinging my eyes. I manage to turn the brightness all the way down and see a notification on my lock screen. It says: Thanksgiving Today. My eyes go from practically shut, to popping out of my head! I spring out of bed and tip-toe into the living room. No one is awake yet. Just then, I hear my stomach rumble. As I’m about to wake my mom up to make pancakes, I decide that maybe I could make pancakes myself as a way of saying thank you for everything she’s done. A smile slowly spreads across my face… I think back to the time in Girl Scouts when we made pancakes to earn our cooking badge. That was relatively easy. I sprint to my computer and look up pancake recipes. I click on the first one, slowly reading down the list. In the kitchen, I check for all of the ingredients: eggs, flour and sugar we have. Next is baking powder. I search the cabinets and drawers, each time getting less and less hopeful. There is no baking powder to be found. I’m not giving up now. I guess I’ll just need to buy more.

I scribble a note to my parents and leave it on the dining room table before I go out into the crisp fall air. The cold breeze whistles in my ears and I can see my breath. The fall colors are exiting, all reds and yellows and greens. Even though it’s early, there are already people walking around. I head to the Duane Reade since it’s the closest pharmacy. When I tug on the handle, it doesn’t budge. I try again and still, it doesn’t open. I look up to see a sign on the door that says, “Closed for Thanksgiving.” The eager grin melts off my face. I think about Whole Foods a couple blocks away. They probably have baking powder, but when I think about walking there, then through the enormous store, I’m overwhelmed. Plus, I’m not sure if they’re open. I guess I’ll just have to go home and make pancakes without baking powder, which I don’t even think will work. When I get inside, I realize how cold I am. Just walking into the warm air is relieving. When I open the door, I see my sister sitting at the dining room table with my dad. Just then, I smell something and see my mom in front of a pan with a pancake cooking on it. “You want some pancakes?” she asks. I look around and see my whole family together. I have so much to be thankful for. My hunger slowly melts away. All I need is my family on Thanksgiving.