Smoke blackens your face, Bold paintings line the creases in your skin, Twisting and turning in the crooks of your elbows. In the darkness you crouch, An animal with dark cheeks and sunken eyes, Next to the smoldering embers of your fire. I see you skulking half hidden in the shadows, The whites of your eyes made clear to me, In the reflecting shadows. I lie on my back and look up at the stars, Beside me I feel you creep from the woods and do the same, I understand. I feel your spirit tingling my skin, Open-mouthed I see the stars with the wonder of my ancestors, Beside the dust of your ancient bones. Maya Koretzky, 12Thornton, Pennsylvania
Poetry-Animals
I Am a Golden Trout
The sound of silence shatters When a buzzing fly splashes into a cool freshwater lake The water, like liquid tourmalines, ripples to kiss the sun-bleached shore I wait for a delicious, squishy fly to plop into striking range Anxious yet excited Each time is as thrilling as the first I strike like a ravenous eagle WHAM! I clamp the sweet, juicy fly between my jaws like a wrench GULP! What a luscious fly! I descend into the liquid silk water To snooze in my blanket of warm earthy mud Colin Johnson, 11Laguna Beach, California
Wolf Moon
The oak trees all around us Hide the light of the moon, Only emitting a faint Spectral glow. Rustlings and stirring, Usual at nighttime like this Are gone. The air is silent tonight, The tingle of magic in the air, And it seems all of the forest Is holding its breath, Marveling at the beauty of The moon. The clearing in front of me Is full of blinding light, With the moon directly overhead, The fullest it can be. The rocks are painted white and silver, With the ground frosty, As though the early morning mist Is painted upon them. The whole universe sparkles, Like stardust has fallen to the earth, In the middle of our small world. All around I hear the Huffing and panting of wolf breath. I step, into the clearing, My front paw illuminated From the otherworldly moonlight. Raising my now silvery tail, I lead my pack Out into the clearing, To howl at the moon. Brooke Hemingway, 13Chicago, Illinois
