Poem

A drop A splotch A paintbrush gone astray A crash A puddle A mug of milk collapsed on the table A shriek A fault line A gaping tear on the paper A kid A toilet break A sister folding artwork into a paper plane A bin A careless hand A father throwing the masterpiece into the trash After much gasping and searching and berating, After much crying and panicking and apologizing, You lose hope, you feel resigned: You think the artwork is terrible, the biggest disgrace of all time. But when you finally find that piece of art, You take a looooong look. You step back and think to yourself: Perhaps this is art. Perhaps this is art. Sim Ling Thee, 13 Singapore

In this moment, I see my baby brother toddling through the house. My dad is playing his guitar, the same song he’s been playing since I was my brother’s age. I sit here and type on my new laptop. I smell the cheesy casserole my mom is cooking, and I glance out the window to see the trees in their full bloom of summer. Summer Loh, 8 New York, NY Ethan Hu, 8 San Diego, CA

Watercolor Friends. Gone. _______Blank. Pixels. Without. Presence. School. Out. What. Now? Days. Filled. _______Summer. Routine. Wake. Up. Eat. Breakfast. Violin. Walk. Dog. Lunch. Piano. Spanish. Shower. Dinner. Sleep. Repeat. False. So. Many. _______Things. To. Do. Bedroom. Ceiling. _______Light. Flickering. Huh. Weird. Never. _______Noticed. That. Before. Steps. Face. Peering. _______Down. Bright. Bark. _______Of. Recognition. White. Belly. Warm. Soft. _______Fog, Sweeping. The. Mountain. Blue. Sky. Outside. _______What. A. Pretty. Picture. Violin. New. _______Scratches. Still. Plays. _______Pretty. Well. Be. More. _______Careful. Next. Time. Wow. _______“Izquierda.” Is. Left. First. Time. _______I. Learned. That. Piano. The. “E.” _______Is. Out. Of. Tune. Fuzz. It’s. Fine. Food. Is. _______Good. Even. Better. With. Magazine. Walking. _______The. Backyard. _______Revealing. New. Plants. Watering. _______Them. Is. Always. A. Joy. August. _______A. Month. That. Matters. Summer. Break. _______Yay! Birthdays. _______Me. Mom. Bear. It’s. _______Anything. But. Routine. It. _______Truly. Is. A. Beautiful. Day. In. August. William Chui, 13 Mill Valley, CA Zoe Campbell, 11 San Francisco, CA

While the chattering water ripples through the kitchen, and a thin layer of liquid coats the plates on the table, shining in the sunlight, scrub the metal plate as it reflects in your bare hands. Grab the cup and continue washing until it’s filled with turbid water, mirroring the birds that carry the sky. Looking through the swirls of white that sit at the surface of the cup, you may pour it back into the sink and wait for the rain to comb the clouds, which seems to mute the dogs barking at the back door. Listen to the sudden rustle emerge from the sonamu peeking through your window, a pause interrupted by the sound of your neighbors. You will remember Ms. Park apologizing for her children when they stained your wall with paint. Take the sponge that you left yesterday on the sink and bathe it in soap once more, a citronella déjà vu. Your hands like dried plums, lukewarm water tracing the lucid map of wrinkles. Let the china drown in the basin. Wash the muck you created while watching the morning news—the namdaemun shop that sells helmets has shut down. A distant susurrus of an old man’s garbled voice. Wrap your hands in the brittle cloth you use every day. Soheon Rhee, 12 Taguig City, the Philippines

I look out the window and wipe the fog off the glass into a heart shape. In the clear glass I can see a girl in a baseball cap, happily strolling with her dog down the road. I see a young man in a polka-dotted shirt performing a sad song, an old couple walking to a café I see a brave flower blooming through the cracks of a city block, all alone, except for his friend, the shy moss. Summer Loh, 8 New York, NY

THE OPPOSITE OF EVERYTHING Logs sink while metals float. Dogs meow while cats bark. Private signs say “Trespassers welcome” while doormats say “Do not enter.” Worms fly while birds burrow. Trees grow underground while potatoes grow upside down. And all this is nonsense, but the opposite is too! META I am writing a poem about a poem in which the poem is about a poem! TONGUE-TIED I am jumping rope as if I were the Pope, flying cartwheels full of hope, except there’s no way to slope down the tangled rope, even when you’re the Pope. WRITING Try devouring a runaway pie you find irresistible but don’t know why. BONE FLUTES Flutes made of bones Have very strange tones. EXISTENTIAL CRISIS I am going to tell you a really long story . . . TTTTTTTTTTTTTTT HHHHHHHHHHHH EEEEEEEEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEE NNNNNNNNNNN DDDDDDDDDDD. MONEY Money money money Money money money Money money money Why don’t we forget about buying money with our own money and live life instead? STARS Stars upon stars upon stars upon stars, as if the sky had scars. LONG AND SHORT A football field is long, but a bug is short. A bug is long, but a cell is short. A cell is long, but an atom is short. An atom is long, but . . . HOT CHOCOLATE Right after a snowstorm, the valleys are no longer torn, and a blanket of white is born, though the blanket is never warm. FLIES Zipping here and there with dirty feet, landing on a birthday cake, electric swatters and regular swatters, hands clapping long after the candles have gone out. PARADOX What if the world was upside down but while it was upside down it was also right-side up! MATERIALISM Nobody cares about the great outdoors, only their own puny properties . . . a leak in the ceiling, someone to mow the lawn, a broken air conditioner . . . People will pay for these things, but no one stops to wonder about species on the verge of extinction: Galapagos tortoises, Leatherback sea turtles, Giant pandas, Blue whales, Asian elephants . . . Benjamin Ding, 9 Jericho, NY

It needs courage to build a school ! It needs courage to touch children’s hearts ! It needs courage to welcome homelessness ! It needs courage to stand with us in one line ! It needs courage to open an educational house ! It needs courage to trade hope for hopelessness ! It needs courage to give pens to those who have never touched a pen before ! It needs courage to paint the black-and-white world of the wounded ! It needs courage to advocate from silence ! It needs courage to give shelter to others ! It needs courage to stay a human ! It needs courage ! It needs courage BECAUSE . . . It’s easy to destroy ! It’s easy to break hearts ! It’s easy to shout at the silenced ! It’s easy to close your eyes on truths ! It’s easy to hurt those who have been hurt many times ! It’s easy to sit aside ! It’s easy to show your power against weakness ! It’s easy ! But we will never give up ! We will build again, stronger than before ! We will help again, more committed than before ! We will bring happiness and stay happy, happier than before ! We will make islands free Parwana Amiri, 16 Herat Province, Afghanistan; Ritsona Refugee Camp, Greece About the Project There are millions of children affected by war, social collapse, and climate change now living in refugee camps, or dispersed in host countries far from their original homes. The work that appears here is a part of Stone Soup’s growing collection of creative expression by young people whose lives have been upended by such conflict throughout the world. To explore the entire collection, please visit the Stone Soup Refugee Project online: https://stonesoup.com/refugee-project/

 The woodpecker pecks at the tree peck, peck, peck with a calming sound as I walk by. I wonder what it’s looking for (bugs? ants?), so diligently pecking at. The bird is yellow, a bit smaller than a hawk. He seems to look at me, for a second. Then he flexes his wings and leaps off a branch, gliding through the air like a paper airplane, as if to say, Farewell. Summer Loh, 8 New York, NY

Beneath the protection of its strong branches, I hear birds chirping and singing their songs. The leaves rustle as squirrels race to their nests. The tree is high, thick, and rough. There is a bud of a flower on top of the leaves that I hope will bloom one day. And I see some birds that months from now will be miles away. Bits of bark float off into the air as leaves bow down gracefully to the high and mighty winds. Summer Loh, 8 New York, NY

~Sylvia If the sky is blue, then fly with me! If the sun is bright, then fly with me! If the sea is rough, then fly with! If you have wings, then fly with me! If the wind blows through your wings, then fly with me! Come here and fly with me! ~Parwana The sky is dark, please help me! The sun is sad, please help me! The sea is stormy, please help me! My wings are small, please help me! The butterflies are afraid, please help me! My world is ignored, please help me! I am a refugee, please help me! Please help me! Help me! ~Sylvia & Parwana Never be scared! We are together, with no fear! We are together, full of courage! We are together, with strong fists! We are together, with powerful steps! We are together, to fly and spy in the air! We are together, to make a storm of happiness! We are together, to stand up against all odds! We are together, no one can stop us! Because We are together, we are together! Parwana Amiri, 16 Herat Province, Afghanistan; Ritsona Refugee Camp, Greece About the Project There are millions of children affected by war, social collapse, and climate change now living in refugee camps, or dispersed in host countries far from their original homes. The work that appears here is a part of Stone Soup’s growing collection of creative expression by young people whose lives have been upended by such conflict throughout the world. To explore the entire collection, please visit the Stone Soup Refugee Project online: https://stonesoup.com/refugee-project/

I make a move. His bishop falls down. Well, there goes his queen and her shiny crown. My knight soars through the air, stealing the square of his pawn without any care. My pawns are in a line. Minutes pass by. My position is fine. I’m playing my best, my position is great, and then . . . checkmate! Summer Loh, 8 New York, NY

i had my first strand of white hair at thirteen it was an ordinary day turned into an un-ordinary day mom was combing my hair i was daydreaming, blissfully unaware when mom told me her finding my heart screamed and screamed how could this be possible? it simply could not be! i shook my head frantically denial, denial the light must have played tricks on her i could not believe it for the world my kind sister showed me proof a photo on a mobile phone, a sympathetic “oof” and that was when i thought: i will grow old someday ———- an hour later, in school, i was feeling blue i cast glances of envy at the classmates around me gossiping and nodding smiling and laughing they were perfectly ordinary they were perfectly happy they did not have their first strand of white hair at thirteen my teachers walked into the classroom heads of hair like flowers in full bloom radiating from head to toe the very definition of “glow” they were, compared to me, years and years older not a strand of white hair on their shoulders one thing’s for sure they did not have their first strand of white hair at thirteen ———- looking in the mirror i thought i’d see that strand of white hair clearer i wanted to launch a vicious attack but it was lost in a sea of black a sea of black . . . like everyone else into the crowd, it melts but i was never normal i was born different inside reassured i stepped away from the mirror it’s okay to be different and have your first strand of white hair at thirteen that consoling reassurance vanished with a puff i thought i could be strong, but it proved tough when an article appeared on the news talking about that writer’s old-age blues fading memory . . . fading body . . . old soul full of spite . . . bare head full of white . . . was this a sign of the end? did i need to say goodbye to my friends? was i going to grow old? was i going to grow as old as mold? i checked my skin for wrinkles i checked my skin for a single crinkle just in case just in case it’s not okay to have your first strand of white hair at thirteen ———- i came across an article about not wasting time how we can be more productive and earn another dime the writer said we should always remember we won’t be living forever we should focus on the life we are leading instead of wallow in self-pity that got me thinking maybe getting white hair isn’t such a big thing why should i wallow in self-pity and be a bore when i could be doing so much more? they say that the day you know you will die is the day you start living for me the day i knew i had white hair was the day i started living it doesn’t matter if you have your first strand of white hair at thirteen Sim Ling Thee, 13 Singapore