Poetry-Reflections

Days

The nights are long The days are short A breeze is blown A day is a day. It can’t be reliven Make today today Tomorrow is tomorrow The gray is space or a planet. A cold breeze sweeps by It is time to return Analise Braddock, 8Katonah, NY

Some Days

Some days I am a girl. On these days I like to giggle and play with toys. I wear bright blue clothes and shirts with cats on them. When I feel like a girl, my feelings change. I feel kind and happy. I like being a girl. But . . . There is a downside. My heart is bigger than on other days. It becomes too big for my body. This causes my feelings to mix together, and that results in emotional drama. This doesn’t make me want to be a girl. So . . . Some days I am a boy. On these days I like to be silly and play rough. I wear darker clothes, like blue, black, or red. When I’m a boy, I feel like my body fits me better. Sometimes it’s as if God intended me to physically be a boy, but changed his mind at the last second. I like being a boy. But . . . Sometimes I feel like I’m too awkward to be a boy. I’m not a very sporty person, and I don’t like jokes. This causes me to appear abnormal and too “sensitive.” This doesn’t make me want to be a boy. So . . . Some days I am a dragon. On these days I like to stomp through the hallways and growl under my breath. I wear light clothing on these days so, being a Dutch Angel Dragon, my fur doesn’t overheat. When I’m a dragon, I like to use pronouns like it, they, them, and their. But . . . Dragging around invisible wings, horns, and a tail all day gets exhausting really fast. I get agitated, and sometimes chirp swears (or something rude) in my language. Even though no one can understand, it is not a good feeling to be cursing, even if it’s an accident. This doesn’t make me want to be a dragon. So . . . It’s really quite simple. I make another choice . . . to be Olivia, who is currently a dragon (roar!!!). Olivia Cadham, 11Ontario, Canada

In the Mirror

  It’s not surprising I look like a monochrome: The only colors are pink laces on my shoes And purple bags beneath my eyes. Like an old-fashioned photograph— “Subject stares beyond the camera. Subject seems so sad.” The people in the pictures never smile. Their faces stay stony and unreadable Even though they see everything, Forever watching, like me. Smiling is hard when it looks so wrong. My best face is my frown. So I wear my frown as I walk away And the monochrome behind the mirror disappears. Anna Calegari, 12Chicago, IL