I love it when it’s raining and you’re driving and you pass under a bridge and the rain stops for just a moment. I love it when you walk outside on a wet morning and you can smell damp clay and freshly mown grass under the gray morning light. I love it when it’s nighttime and you’re under a cool blanket of stars and you feel like you should be able to see your breath or taste the air. I love it when you’re at the beach and you let the water stream to your toes and your ankles sink into the sand and the water streams back out again. I love it when you look at someone— just glance at them barely— and you both know that you’re about to burst out in laughter. I love it when it’s snowing outside— just gently, though—and you sit outside in the snow and let the snowflakes fall on you in their quiet, peaceful way. I love it when a spacious room becomes absolutely quiet except for the sound of a clock ticking away the time of silence in the room. I love it when you bite into a perfect apple and you can hear that satisfying crunch that just makes it taste so much better. I love it when a gust of gentle wind streams through the trees so that they rattle and it sounds like water is passing through. I love it when you read the last words of a book and you read them over and then the first words and then the title because you just can’t believe it’s over. I love it when you do that: when you smile like that at me. Do it again; smile like that again at me. Madeline Snigaroff, 11Del Mar, California
Poetry-Reflections
Mixed Bag
I sigh As the warm water pours down my back Washing off the dust and dirt Of the last week It’s been so long since I showered. A movie Playing on television Surrounding me with its music and images It’s nice to be part of society again. Pillows Soft and fluffy Two of them on my bed I’d forgotten what they felt like. A warm quilt Pulled over me What a nice warm place to sleep. A radiator Blowing warmth into the room It’s nice to be away from the drafts of the tent. Showers, television, Pillows, mattresses, Quilts, radiators Sleeping will be easy here. Before I drift off Into the welcoming world of sleep I look up. I see only the white paint Of the ceiling above me, Separating me from the stars High up in the heavens Pinpricks of light slowly rotating Which were my companions for the last week. Genna Carroll, 13San Jose, California
Go Back to Asia
“Go back to Asia!” He says and sneers and snarls. He lacks imagination. He is so predictable. Sometimes he spreads his pain and says, “Go back to Egypt!” “Go back to Mexico!” “Go back to Africa!” He must be a travel agent Waiting to book a flight. Maybe he’s right. Maybe we should all go back And thank the Native Americans For their hospitality, For their generosity. But where would we go When our home is here? I was born here and raised here Just like you. My parents were born and bred here too Just like you. My grandparents’ souls left for the sky but were buried here Too. I’m staying right here. With you. Jason Fong, 11Manhattan Beach, California
