Poem

Through the afternoon In a blue Honda Fit In toward the wind farm We shall go. As the wind turbines spin In the afternoon wind Shadows on the ground Like a fidget. In the high winds You feel like you can touch it But cannot Car shadows go. Spinning shadows Of the turbines Night and Day Out in the plains. Glow of the farm Of the sunlight Beating down The wind farm spins. Through the wind farm We shall go The sun goes down Driving toward Illinois. Spinning turbines In high winds The shadow spins On the highway. Spinning very fast Fast as you go The wind shall blow Is how the turbine goes.

Trees instead of poles Mountains instead of buildings Rivers instead of roads Boulders instead of cars Flowers instead of litter Grass instead of stores Forests instead of parking lots Sunsets instead of smog Oceans instead of cities Lakes instead of concrete Dolphins instead of ships Meadows instead of machines Mechanical things devour the earth like a fox hunts a rabbit, making their own islands while crumpling the world to pieces. The moon stares down upon us with love. The trees give us their shade with kindness while all we see is an ax. The earth is not a huge clump of metal. We must see it in a different way, like the beauty it is. That’s the world we should be. That’s the world we should see.

My best friend devoured my heart My Vision was changed. I dragged myself forward. I see someone disappear in the distance. I think I am not myself

I see myself in it. Everything looks the same. My dark-as-night hair, brown as a grizzly bear’s eyes, curvy ears, hairy brows, and pink nails. It looks as if it was a duplicate of me. When I move, it moves too. When I look sad, it looks sad too. When I look happy, it looks happy too. But always when my mind drifts, it always reminds me of me.

A stone skips through the world, Though unseen by the common eye. Perhaps it begins out on the road, watching the mailman with his load. As frost comes and all grows cold, It rolls a way, by playfully running children’s feet. And now it’s only half the size— Has the world a plot for a stone so bold? And then it’s caught in someone’s boot, taken far under foot. It listens for a bit, to shouts of children making shaky self-portraits. It’s shaken loose by mother’s hands and slips behind a drape’s fold. But that little stone a child spies: “A stone! A skipping stone!” she cries. And off they run, to water’s edge, and fling the stone, now just a pebble, high past the boat, Like a water skimmer, it skips once, twice, thrice, four, five times . . .

Once I saw the stars Saw them in the dead of night Once I saw the stars Red and blue, dim and bright Once I saw the stars Twinkling in the sky Once I saw the stars Pure beauty to my eye Once I saw the stars But now the sky is gray and mean And only planes are to be seen But once I saw the stars. Once I saw the fish Saw them in the ocean blue Once I saw the fish Their scales held every hue Once I saw the fish Darting through the reef of coral Once I saw the fish Free of all the world’s morals Once I saw the fish But now the water’s green and stings The ocean void of colorful things But once I saw the fish Once I saw the trees Saw them in a city green Once I saw the trees Their leaves, a beautiful sheen Once I saw the trees Towering to the sky Once I saw the trees Though you may think that a lie Once I saw the trees But now the ground is bare and flat No life round here except for rats But once I saw the trees Once I saw the art Saw it in a building old Once I saw the art Too beautiful to be sold Once I saw the art Its vision made me think Once I saw the art So many shades of pink Once I saw the art But now the easels are cracked and torn The fashion never to be worn But once I saw the art Once the world had beauty And the stars all twinkled bright Once the world had beauty And the ocean was a sight Once the world had beauty With trees, lush and green Once the world had beauty With art that should be seen Yes once the world had beauty Where did it go?

Ogres stomp Ogres march Ogres punch Ogres growl. And the best of all When it’s getting dark They crawl into their caverns And go to sleep. And they stop stomping and marching and punching and growling. Ogres dream about their next day.

Peacocks peep Lions lurk Tigers yap Monkeys hang and jump. And when the night moon comes out And the stars glow brightly All the animals cuddle up And say goodnight.

At the zoo, there are elephants And then there are elephant shrews People come to see the elephants Children point and throw peanuts Adults take pictures Elephants are on TV Ever seen a shrew on TV? And yet, the shrew is still there, looking at you, Afraid to snuggle up by an elephant’s foot Where it wants to be People look at the shrew and at the elephants. An elephant stomps: End of shrew. But When the people go home and Write in diaries about their trip They write about the elephants And lionsandtigersandbears But they also write about the shrew.

After school, you go Home. You feel safe when you are Home. After a long day, you go Home. When you’re tired, you want to go Home. When you are on the road, you want to go Home. When you’re at school, you want to go Home. When you are crying, you want to go Home. When you are hurting, you want to go Home. You are at peace when you are Home.

I am from the teddy bear that is gigantic From old dishes from Greece I am from the calm wind that blows by my house And the swing that went away in the waves of our pool I am from the huge pine tree in the backyard that litters the ground I am from the old luggage bag that came from Greece From Alex and Penny, Uncle Matthew and Auntie Denise And from traveling and books, from the spanakopita at Thanksgiving I am from Uncle George saying a prayer at family gatherings From apple pie that makes the house smell like apples From traveling to America from Greece, and From the fallen leaves on the family, and the family tree that came from Greece, the family tree that came from my grandparents’ house I am from moments at my Uncle Jimmy’s house I am from the family tree that is 567 years old I am from Greece.

Winter, winter, coming clear, come outside, what do you hear? Wind whistles through the trees, a robin tweets, no more freeze. Spring has come as small as a hum, and too fast, summer is second to last, summer, summer, fall’s the last. Who knew the year could pass so fast? Winter, winter, coming fast, the old year’s in the past . . .