Look where I live.
It is a big city.
I am learning its name.
It starts with a P.
Mom writes a shopping list.
Grandma is taking me to the supermarket.
It’s cold outside. “Put your coat and gloves on please,” she says.
“And don’t forget my medicine,” says Grandpa.
We walk down the sunny street.
Our breath hangs in the cold air.
In the supermarket, we find everything and pay.
A kind man gives Grandma the shopping.
“Now, can you show me how to cross the street safely?” Grandma asks me.
“Ok,” I say, and press the button to make the cars stop.
We wait for the green man and walk across the street together.
A lady changing a tire waves to me.
In the drugstore we get Grandpa’s medicine.
Going home we see big painted pictures on walls, called murals.
People are speaking and listening to poetry there.
We listen and people know Grandma.
“Tell them your poem Grandma.” I say.
Grandma reads her poem about the Liberty Bell.
The crowd listens and cheers.
I feel proud of Grandma as we near home.
Mom waves at us.
“Did you spot Mom’s ‘city’ clue in the shopping items?” Grandpa asks.
“What clue?” I ask.
Mom lays out the shopping on the table.
Papaya, Hot-dogs, Ice-cream, Lemons, Lentils, Yams.
“Can you sound the first letter of each one?” She asks.
I sound: P. H. I. L. L. Y.
“Hey, that’s my city!” I laugh.