Poem

Each time he comes to our house To give me a trumpet lesson, He arrives in a large SUV And tells us his family Hasn’t visited in ages. He drinks an espresso, Spreads pages of music On the stand, And instead of playing, He talks about Sicily. Mount Etna in the distance, His grandfather’s old village, Olives and rosemary . . . The only place He feels at home. Tatiana Rebecca Shrayer, 13 Brookline, Massachusetts

Wet feet on the sand Touching the seaweed. Memories dissolve in the tide, People toss wet seaweed, as if it’s a joke To lose one’s memories. Yet when the seaweed dries in the sand, It forms a grid And returns to life . . . Memory restored. Tatiana Rebecca Shrayer, 13 Brookline, Massachusetts

Walking up stairs where Dostoevsky walked before, Looking through doors where he looked before, Sitting in chairs where he sat before, Mourning his young son Aleksey. Ringing doorbells Dostoevsky rang before, Looking at pages he wrote before, Shadows of him filling the air, As a white night falls on the Baltic shore. Tatiana Rebecca Shrayer, 13 Brookline, Massachusetts

I open and close the same tall supple door, hang on my frozen gold hook, and wait for my life to change. I get placed into a large maroon bag and lie there, wistful and alone. The bag opens. A vivid light shines through my empty body. But then I fall onto the cold white floor. The maroon bag walks out and I know I’m lost forever. Tatiana Rebecca Shrayer, 13 Brookline, Massachusetts

A sprout comes up, a raindrop falls, The shadow follows us around, The buds are born and singing too, The beauty of the spring is here with you. Tatiana Rebecca Shrayer, 13 Brookline, Massachusetts

I made a journey from Boston to St. Petersburg to visit my forebears at a Jewish graveyard. On the way we stopped at a little bake shop with tired women selling day-old bread. My father and I entered a rickety gate in front of the old synagogue. A stooped man with a wheelbarrow asked if we needed water to wash the graves. Wash the graves once a year? I wondered. To connect with ancestors I’d never met? To speak to them, to hear their wisdom, to keep the memory awake? On the way back, we crossed a long grey bridge over railroad tracks and abandoned factories. I was thinking: would Russia be in my dreams if my father hadn’t left forever? Tatiana Rebecca Shrayer, 13 Brookline, Massachusetts

Imagine the loneliness of a crab . . . It takes its anger out by pinching swimmers’ feet. It hides under rocks, scared and shocked, waiting to be caught. Do people remember that they hurt a lonely being after it’s been captured, dried, and mounted on the wall like the head of a deer? Tatiana Rebecca Shrayer, 13 Brookline, Massachusetts

On Cape Cod a leaden day Descended over the bay. Lights were flickering in the church, The wind ripped through the birch, The rain tore through the cloud, Thunder and lightning came around. Then it stopped and all was dark, Thousands of trees were down, The steeple was lying on the ground Like an open battle wound. Mother Nature said its word: First tornado on Cape Cod. Tatiana Rebecca Shrayer, 13 Brookline, Massachusetts

Hope is a friend or maybe a foe. It carries me across the treacherous ice and the darkening sky. It watches me with glistening eyes knowing me better than I. Tatiana Rebecca Shrayer, 13 Brookline, Massachusetts

On a cloudy Monday morning Bearded fathers with children Trekked to the docks Carrying plastic buckets And beat-up coolers To store the catch. As we boarded the rust-eaten boat I, a nine-year-old city girl in glasses, Saw young deserted men Chopping squid, And wondered if they Even had a life on the shore. We set sail, and I heard the captain Speak in his vehement voice: “Bait your hooks, hold your lines,” And then I caught a glimpse of Hyannis Dissolving in the distance Like a homeland I’ve never visited. Tatiana Rebecca Shrayer, 13 Brookline, Massachusetts

This shell reminds me of a tiny gold rose. Shaped like a broken spiral staircase, Outside it feels like a soft young chestnut, Inside it shines like a sunset over Nantucket Sound. If I entered I’d see drops of saltwater Arranged like letters on an ancient scroll. Holding my shell I feel like I’m climbing The tallest tower in the world. Tatiana Rebecca Shrayer, 13 Brookline, Massachusetts