Scrub the wall to form froth, then coat it with water like the coastline after a wave. Soapy water will slide down to the floorboards. Sit down at the edge of the water, hold your shawl with one hand, and dry the floor. Be careful not to get water in between the tiles. Pull out the brush from the cleaning cart, its drawers tiered like bleachers. By the window, you can see the gardeners trimming the trees below, one of them leaving for a break. The lake to the side reflects the birds flying around in chains, as if trying to clasp the sides of the sky. After cleaning the walls, make sure to put new soap in the tray below. Go inside the corner room to finish today’s breakfast. Soheon Rhee, 12 Taguig City, the Philippines
Poem
A Natural Evening
The high-rising sea next to the tree with the leaves scattering on the ground and the sea, with the rocks standing still while the birds make their kill and the blue lights, as calm as can be. The daisy tree, the stars, and the bee and the little leaves next to me. The cars on the street with the little red lights, and the mountains I see where the people hike when the stars go out to play on a nice little day. The moon is waking up for the night, and in the farm, on a simple brown nest, a hen walks up to take a rest. Summer Loh, 8 New York, NY
Uninvited Guest
Sit on the Formica chairs you arranged yesterday, flowers embedded in the seat fabric. The candles should be lit, expanding light on the mahogany table, with white napkins laid out, displaying their whiteness. You will see the person in front of you, holding the silver cutlery with a single glove on the left hand, just like you, except yours is worn on the right. While the floorboards creak, make your steps across the kitchen for a glass of wine—the guest also leaves the chair, disappearing from the table. When you return, the person should be seated. Place the wine bottle to the side. After the plates have been emptied, bow your head slightly as a farewell and gather the leftover food into a pile. The person will bow back at you, and when you both look at each other, you will realize it was not a guest, but a mirror. Soheon Rhee, 12 Taguig City, the Philippines
Cornered
Deep in the White House, maybe in a closet, the door is shut and barricaded from the inside by an armoire and a heavy sofa. To his left you might see a machine gun. To his right is a decoy: a rifle labeled the 2nd Amendment. The man’s face is in shadow. On the wall, his country’s upside-down flag hangs crookedly. On the wall opposite, the flag of treason has been nailed to the wall beside the hanging skeletal figure of a young man. A Bible sits, brand new and yet covered in dust, on a barren shelf behind him. On the back wall, a flat-screen TV frames his face. There is a whiteboard deep inside the closet. An Expo marker is tied on a string to the corner of the board. It has been recently erased. A picture of his daughter has been tacked to the board with a round black magnet, her face false with make-up. If you look closely, you will see that his right shoelace is undone. The hem of his pants are crooked. Perched on the bridge of his nose is a pair of borrowed glasses. If he knew these things, if he could see these things, he would not let them slide. The man is cornered. He has cornered himself. Cora Burch, 13 Van Nuys, CA
Bike Shopping
I am on my dad’s computer scanning Craigslist and stressing over the purchase of a new bike, as I am adamant about getting one that doesn’t have a sloped bar, which is a trait of stereotypically “girl” bikes, and I don’t want one with a horizontal bar either, a “men’s” bike, so the one I would really like would have a half bar, like my current bike, that sits without curve on a diagonal, and look— here is a red one, with the bar that I want, simple gear shifters, and just my size of 16, and it is listed as a women’s bike, but I will get it anyway, so my dad and I schedule a trip to pick it up, and it takes less time than formerly thought, only thirty minutes with the pandemic and all and— oh right. The pandemic. Cora Burch, 13 Van Nuys, CA
Right
When my best friend walks a foot too close I flinch. That doesn’t feel right. Is it possible to walk upon the earth hand in hand, to rise up and touch stars that are just reachable, without touching once? It feels impossible. Cora Burch, 13 Van Nuys, CA
Calm
It is 4:00 AM. Not quite, more like 4:02, or 4:05. But it doesn’t matter really, like how the virus will one day leave and we will still wash our hands every time we get home from the store. I am sitting in bed reading a book I love, a story that leaves me at peace every time I read it. It’s calming, in a strange way, even though there is a conflict, like how the sky can still be that beautiful electric indigo of 4:00 AM, or 4:02, and in the back of my mind I know that people are still dying. Cora Burch, 13 Van Nuys, CA
Hurricane
Irene was a nasty dream. Waking up with colors in my eyes, watching her falling down inside my mouth. I was covering my ears flat as possible. The rusty wagon dripping old and wet, it slowed— stopped. My hurricane is me— I could not know. My flashlight told me that. Fueling myself to push back into normal, I could convince myself that was just a nasty dream Rainer Pasca, 14 Bay Shore, NY
Rumi on the Table
I’m thinking of nothing. My head is empty like a garbage can. Oh, I can’t write this poem. Hey, look. Rumi is on the table. Rumi, why don’t we make a poem? He’s purring! Awww, he is purring the poem. I love you, Rumi. You’re the king of gold. Rainer Pasca, 14 Bay Shore, NY
Rainer’s Mind
I was in a forest with nothing but my mind. It opened a little bit— lifted its mouth like a shark. Suddenly, a bird. Snap, said my mind. Delicious! I didn’t even say hello. I just walked home. Rainer Pasca, 14 Bay Shore, NY
Speak
Tied feet Curled toes Aching legs “Why?” she asks “Pretty feet”, they say. Trapped Must hide her face Can’t leave the house “Why?” she asks. “You must go unnoticed”, they say. Can’t vote No voice Not allowed to learn “Why?” she asks. “Not allowed to have power,” they say. Wears pasty makeup Itchy dresses Fancy hairstyles “Why?” she asks. “Must be pretty,” they say. “Pretty, pretty, pretty,” she thinks, all day long. “What is the value of this beauty, if it takes up your whole life?” “Nothing,” she thinks. “It is pointless.” Suhani Pandya, 12 Englewood Cliffs, NJ
My heart
All this feeling trapped in this tiny room, my head preparing for its greatest doom. The words come at me, the feelings strike, the memories roll me, like wheels on a bike. All these things mix with the thoughts of the day. They jumble up my dreams, ruin what I say. Now I know why the room-brain is so very small: because my heart is big. That is all. Aya David-Ramati, 10 Dublin, Ireland
