Two weeks ago, I sat her down
At the computer for the first time.
She said, "I can't,"
Which is not to be confused
With "I won't."
Her fear of failing, again,
Had almost stopped everything;
Speaking, writing, enrolling in my class.

Now here she sits, two scarce weeks later,
And she has leamed to type slow sentences.
She has learned to put down a word to aid her
If she cannot remember the whole idea at once.
Even better, she has developed
Her own system of symbols
To help her write on the computer
In a way she never could on paper.

Sometimes she and her writing partner giggle
And write computer notes to each other.
And they cheer for each other
When they press a button and the printer,
As their quick, obedient servant,
Types black and white, clean copies for them.

Linda's first composition was a paragraph
With twenty words,
Fragments of thought, unconnected.
Today, she turned in a hundred words,
With whole ideas, and transitions.
She smiles broadly at me
As I pass her writing station.
Slow is much better than not writing.

The experts say that, obiectively,
The computer does not turn out "better"
  writing.
But this is Linda's second time
Through this basic writing class,
Only, last time she had no computer.
Today she thinks magic exists in the world
And she controls it.
So do I.