Poem

On a spring morning we arrived from Lublin to witness what was left of the death camp; a rusty peeling sign came into view it screamed: “Sobibór.” The Nazis destroyed evidence of the gas chambers. What was left were the grounds through which Jewish bodies walked to take the shower of death. As I stood on the platform and touched the tracks, I felt like a little girl named Hanna looking for her murdered parents. Tatiana Rebecca Shrayer, 13 Brookline, Massachusetts

Trust is like leaving a dog alone and knowing it won’t knock over your pawn on the forgotten chessboard. Trust is believing love won’t last but knowing that hope will go on always reborn. Tatiana Rebecca Shrayer, 13 Brookline, Massachusetts

Once a cop, now he mows grass. He was once fearless and brave, now he fishes off the bridge and sells oysters to local bars. Not his shiny patrol car but his wife’s old sedan, not a sheriff’s star but sticky sand. He still dreams of his siren as the lawn mower rumbles. Rich people’s gardens are his last assignment. Tatiana Rebecca Shrayer, 13 Brookline, Massachusetts

Books are alluring, their words flow across the printed page, coming alive with rage, with melody, wisdom, sadness. Pushkin, Frost, Steinbeck . . . Books are pages, chapters from the story of love and loss. Tatiana Rebecca Shrayer, 13 Brookline, Massachusetts

I walk down the grey path And I see the snowflakes coming down, Light as the sun, dark as the moon. I see a man shoot a deer, I see a girl streaked in tears, And I wonder why the snow Is so peaceful and clear. Tatiana Rebecca Shrayer, 13 Brookline, Massachusetts

Today I went to the beach and swam in the stormy Pacific. I touched dead jellyfish on the sand, then took a bus to the hotel. Out the window I saw rusty cars, tired people in corner stores, buildings with graffiti, and peeling paint. It was a living city. Tatiana Rebecca Shrayer, 13 Brookline, Massachusetts

Last night of the world, New Year’s Eve in the mountains of Pucón. A local girl and a local boy slaughtering a lamb the tourists will eat for New Year’s supper as the volcano erupts with fear. Tatiana Rebecca Shrayer, 13 Brookline, Massachusetts

Santiago in the afternoon, the Andes built with rocks and moon, o I wonder if I glide I’m coming home soon. Tatiana Rebecca Shrayer, 13 Brookline, Massachusetts

He wrote novels and poems On that old, grey pony. But now it sits in our shoe closet Next to a pair of old rain boots. One afternoon I find it on the kitchen table Released from its case, Buttons dusty yet ink still wet. I insert a blank page And type awkwardly in Russian. Tatiana Rebecca Shrayer, 13 Brookline, Massachusetts

Running with Stella the silver poodle who hunts rabbits and chews on clams. Taking in the salt and letting it go while the sea breeze refuses to slow. Talking about election politics and getting bored going to sleep when the stars are restored. Tatiana Rebecca Shrayer, 13 Brookline, Massachusetts

When life goes downhill you start to drift. When the clouds push you run down the slope. When rain lashes you seek cover in a dark cave with a shimmering light. Tatiana Rebecca Shrayer, 13 Brookline, Massachusetts

My relatives once played with these old tennis racquets. Their souls bounce on the strings like scraps of forgotten music while their hands grip new handles on a star-paved tennis court. Tatiana Rebecca Shrayer, 13 Brookline, Massachusetts