Poem

A strip of gray, perforated by yellow lines, cutting through the grasses, trees, rocks. It appeals to me, The surveying, engineering, construction, All to conquer this one point of the barrier Between oceans, watersheds, counties, states. The peak of the path, Barrier of waters, Somehow excites me. Is it truly my cartographic desire Or just a mind wandering? Or crossing the line between Atlantic and Pacific, Or just of finding a thought to dwell on? Woody Szydlik, 12 San Francisco, CA

Quiet. Still. The thick air seems to push down, Weighing more than any real thing. Ill-perceived by my thoughts, it groans under me With the cushion, bowl shaped by my perennial existence. Somehow their lives are more perceivable than my own. Sterile, premade, they make no decisions in their pixelated world. All problems resolved within a third of an hour, All questions answered in that time. Why not substitute these impurities for my own? Impurities that will be destroyed in 22 minutes. Impurities that define us. I get up, walk outside Into the fresh, impure air. Woody Szydlik, 12 San Francisco, CA

Go outside Go to a forest Find a place where you can sit down Listen to the sweet sounds of the birds chirping Feel the soil grasp you and bring you down into its domain Listen to the rushing water of the stream Feel the moss grow on you and chain you against the tree next to you Open your eyes You now feel all tingly inside You have just met The Spirits of the Forest Lily Kasius, 10 Troy, NY

9:39. The sun has already been elevated high above my street, and I stand up. The birds have long since left to be replaced by pedestrians, Some sauntering past, some rushing to get to heaven knows what. But my brain is filled with calculations. Can I brush my teeth in time? Perhaps eat an apple? Class is in six minutes, A year ago meaning such a different thing. But now six minutes is nine times more than two, especially before math. Filled with an hour-long list of minute possibilities, each taking a minute, Pushing me to pick them, My brain scrolls through them, looking for the correct ones. I click on the meeting link when I find it. 9:45. Time for math. Woody Szydlik, 12 San Francisco, CA

The sun is a gigantic orange Waiting to be eaten by the night. Grace Zhuang, 6 Vienna, VA

Summer is what I grow in my garden. Summer is what I wear on the beach. Summer is what I sing in my song Laughing, with the charming daisies Flying, with my rainbow dress Crying, with the waves in the ocean. How I wished you could stay. Grace Zhuang, 6 Vienna, VA

Imaginary Bird Grows in the mud, Lotus flower, Blooming. Her petals flying around, Telling everyone the good news. “Summer is coming!” “Summer is coming!” She did not know that, She herself is the summer.   Grace Zhuang, 6 Vienna, VA Rebecca Wu, 9 Medina, WA

Blue night sky above me, Holding me in, Staggering every moment I try to break free. Holding in the sunlight, Holding in the day. It feels as morning might not come. So I don’t wait, I bring in the sun. Brooke Callan, 10 Deerfield, IL

Bees are sunflowers’ summer. Waves are oceans’ summer. Daisies are gardens’ summer. I lay down on the sand. It is so warm. Touching my face, “You are my summer.” Grace Zhuang, 6 Vienna, VA

I sit beneath the tall, shady tree One hot summer day. I read, and I read, Treasuring this moment, This day. Just my book and me. I am in my own world, The scene beside me is not there. Neither am I. I am a knight Fighting a dragon. I am a princess, Letting down my hair. I am a troll, Eating a sheep. Though I myself am soon fast asleep. Brooke Callan, 10 Deerfield, IL

Winds are running around Telling everyone the good news, “Spring is coming!” “Spring is coming!” The little delphinium Looking around Looking for spring. She did not know that She herself is the spring. Grace Zhuang, 6 Vienna, VA