here this is a black dot. that moves uncontrollably in the slight breeze at odd angles in twisted, bent ways looking almost as if it is grasping at the delicate balance it now hangs in my breath is heavy as I try to make it fly, again the damage worsens and breaks this is not your final resting place I whisper my voice carried off by the wind I blow hard my tiny black dot flies away Ella Fasciano, 13Lebanon, New Jersey
Poetry-Nature
Salty Air
My sister and I Scramble up the jagged rocks Our pockets full of shells, rocks And the occasional sea glass. My mother sits by the fire, Reading peacefully We grab sheets of paper towels On the windowsill, a menagerie Of tiny ocean creatures Unmoving now, glistening in the sun They sit there all weekend Until it’s time to Go. The sea glass is the last act in the show All others packed up Shoved into bags and jackets We always leave the best for last But when we get home, Exhausted in that exhilarating way, The memories are drawn out of our things We lock them in our minds And all that’s left is dull rocks The magic somehow all gone. They were always more beautiful When you had the ocean behind them The waves pounding the shores The earthy damp scent And the fireplace, crackling all night. Pearl Tulay, 12Amherst, Massachusetts
Performance
Night knits the mountains close and hazy lines shoot high. A half moon rising low and dim quietly moans a tune; the wind is at a howl; the trees are a wobbling drum. The lake ripples— the main event is about to occur— Though it is nothing special, really, but celestial dead bodies that light up our little souls. Izzah Khairi, 13Calgary, Alberta, Canada
