She left before the sun came up. I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye. Goodnight; I love you. The last words spoken between us The suitcase had been packed that night. Button-up shirts, Silky and soft. A warm embrace; The smell of roses. I’ll be back before Sunday, she had said. It was a Friday morning. A small road trip, A six-hour drive, A harmless once-in-a-life opportunity. In the cold, the rain, the fog, the darkness. She left. She left. Goodbye. Goodbye. Dark thoughts invade my mind, Black clouds drifting into my head Eating up the happiness. What could happen? What might happen? Tears fall down my cheeks, Salty drops of sea. They drip down my nose, Fall onto my lips. Please, please. Just come back. Please. Come back safe. Nastassja Carusetta, 13 South Pasadena, California
Poem
Dreamer of Dreams
I can capture a bird’s flight, a mountain’s splendor, a tiger’s roar. My pen marks the crisp white paper like footprints on a snowy trail. My dreams are alive, and leaping like sparks in my hands. To dream is to speak a thousand words and never speak at all. In my dreams, I fly like a new bird, like the quiet of the storm. The music that flows from my eyes is like currents of electricity, and it powers me, the dreamer of dreams to live. Danielle Eagle, 12 Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada
My Dog
I look at him My dog Head on tiny white paws, Breathing heavily. He looks back at me His eyes sad As if to say, “Come to me,” So I do. Then I Stroke his head quietly And he closes his eyes, His breathing deep Raspy And tired. He is small, sick, and old But right now he is with me. So I give him a kiss And let him snore. Abby Shaffer, 12 Riverside, California
The First Morning of Winter
It is silent. Skeletons of trees. A lonely crow shrieks. And is gone in a black smudge, Erased from the sky. The air is cold melted silver, Each breath freezes and falls, Then shatters on the ground. Blades of grass cocooned in frost, Crackle when you step on them. The last leaf falls, A drop of orange on the white sheet. Winter is here. Cammie Keel, 13 Boulder, Colorado
My Chicken
With curious eyes The inquisitive bird Struts slowly towards its new discovery. What could it be, That strange creature, with fur; and nose placed so queerly? It just jumped down from my lap, And is now rounding the coop. Its tail twists all around, Like a long, coily snake. But it’s fuzzy, not smooth, And has long hairs on its face. The fowl now stretches its feathered neck, Blinking as she cautiously reaches. And quick as a wink, My young chicken’s beak Is through the wire— And pecks the cat’s left ear. Abigail D’Agosta, 12 Waxahachie, Texas
I See Only Beauty
Liquid glass shatters on the sidewalk from the angry sky Scattering all the pedestrians like ants They hurry home to the comfort Of their TV dinners and their television sets While I walk the streets— A garbage bag as my raincoat, my heart light I find Picasso in a puddle And stories in the sky Orpheus is playing his lyre tonight While gentle Chiron nurses his wound The sky is my storybook And as I settle myself under a peeling park bench I see only beauty Jeremy Long, 13 Mission Viejo, California
The Trains That Went By 31 Years Ago
I watch the trains go by The sky takes on a purple haze that seems unique to London As I slowly fall asleep, I try to imagine my father doing the same thing, decades ago I am lying in the house he grew up in, in the same bed, with the same blanket I imagine living in London eating dinner at the little table where you have to tuck your elbows in then going upstairs to bed and looking at the trains Would I enjoy it as much? Would I even consider myself lucky? I wake up and look out the window The sun is glaring in my face even though it is early morning I watch the trains going by, the same ones as last night The trains feel as if they are right next to you close enough that you can watch the people going past as the trains follow their everyday routine The people on the trains never notice you But you can see everything they do for those brief seconds before they disappear Stella White, 11 Newark, Delaware
Sleep
The air is thick The leaky faucet in grandma’s bathtub is going drip, plop, drip, plop There is a small glimpse of light coming from the crack in my door My bed feels so big Like I would need one thousand me’s, five-foot me’s To fill the bed The air suddenly becomes thinner The faucet stops dripping for a second And I simply fall asleep. Sarah Welch, 11 Elgin, Illinois
Running
We run until it hurts too much to take in another breath My breath is a thin jet of smoke, in the cold winter morning Drifting from my lips The sound of our footsteps beating the hard-packed snow is inviting And then, all at once, we all fall We fold into one another Every joint in our bodies collapsing Like a folding chair, My knees, my waist, my elbows, until I’m down Till my ankles are her ankles And her calf is mine And we laugh A pile of marionettes, Waiting for strings to be pulled up again, In a happy dance Astrid May Steiner-Manning, 12 St. Paul, Minnesota
Frights
What lies in the darkest corner in the mind of a boy? His greatest fears. Dark, looming, ominous shadows of everyday objects Turn into alarming frights. Howls, creaks, booms, blasts, blares, Sneak into the mind of a boy Creep into his thoughts, Eliminating his ability to sleep. The thought of a monster lurking under the bed Shoots goosebumps up the arms and legs Of your average boy, Making him stay up in bed, Panting. His heart races, Practically beating out of his chest. He forces his eyes closed, Willing himself to a rest That won’t come. Fists clenched, Palms sweaty, Brow moist, Breathing fast, The house creaking, Trees striking the window With a slow, eerie beat. Tears sliding down his cheek, He engulfs himself in his blanket. His brain pounding in his head To the rhythm of the trees Cracking and snapping Against the window like Baseball bats. Trying to calm himself, Slowly inhaling and exhaling, Heart slowing down, Sleep. Sam Laskin, 10 Westport, Connecticut
Bass Clef
A curiously-shaped case, elongated ebony Buckles, that when opened reveal gleaming gold Nestled in velvet, radiant brass glints in twists and turns Narrow pipes widen to a vast bell Pieced together with knobs and screws What will this clanky contraption do? Blowing begins, a sound like an old man coughing Spit settling in the pipes, clogging and choking Frustration, tantrums, dismantling is in sight Walk around, wait a while, at last it calls me back With pursed lips and perseverance An astounding melodious sound echoes, ringing through the room Note after note, the slide swings My hands and mouth laboring in unity At last I feel connected to this once awkward hunk of brass It’s no longer just an instrument, but a portal To my joy of music Elliott McCloskey, 13 Eagle, Idaho
The Soundtrack of Summer
The breeze sweeps through my hair and pulls aside the curtain of leaves above me allowing sunshine to fall, gracefully onto my face. I close my eyes and listen as the hammock sways me gently. With a bold splash someone dives into the relieving cool of a backyard pool. An insect hums and chirps while lounging on a leaf. A lawn mower putters and roars as it begins to hack away at a mighty forest that’s been allowed to grow far too long. My dog beneath the hammock pants contentedly. Somewhere near a happy laugh celebrates freedom from school for many weeks to come. And then I hear a tinkling like the music at a fairy ball. For ages that very sound has attracted kids like moths to a flame. I jump to my feet and set out at a sprint towards the iconic ice cream truck. With every step my flip-flops snap as my feet pound against the asphalt. Although the peaceful trance is broken I still love no song more than the soundtrack of summer in full swing. Rebecca Kilroy, 11 Basking Ridge, New Jersey
