We walked home together. We talked about schoolwork, and then you said, “You are adopted. I’m sorry.” Sometimes you commented on the dirt on my clothes as we walked out of school. But this felt different, like we were at a party and all of a sudden the music stopped and everyone stared at me. The words take me back: You’re adopted. I’m sorry? What did you say? These words make me feel like I should hide in a box and never come out. I am utterly quiet while my hands clench into fists. You shattered the moment, the laughing, the talking, everything. And you know it. I am like a rope held together by trust and care. That rope has been severed— A rope made of tiny threads that wear out if you use it too much— by you. And you can say “I’m sorry” because you do not know what it is like To feel the shadow of hurtful words. To feel small Because you cast the shadow. Now think Deep Deep Deep Could you say that now? Would you say that now? All those times you were mean this is just hurtful. Zoe Savishinsky, 12Seattle, Washington
Poetry-Friends-and-Family
Grandfather
Behind your vacant stare, Memories lie hidden, Faltering and fleeting The distant remembered, The present, unrecallable. Never afraid before Shadows of freshly plastered seams On my living room wall, Now haunt you, transporting you Back to the barbed-wire camps. So vividly you recall Your Nazi captors, And your escape Yet, it is my name that Escapes you now. Your smooth fingers glide nimbly Over the piano keys. You are at peace; Lost in reveries, Only to wake up To a confused reality. Although your memory is extinguishing, On your delicate face, A smile has found a permanent home. Your gentle touch, warm eyes Still illuminate my heart. Hands joined, ancient and innocent Float together on waves of love. Alexa Bryn, 11Hollywood, Florida
Doing the Tango
In my house, we celebrate everything. Even the smallest things. Good grades on a test. Learning that we are going On vacation. Even a surprise present. The reward is “doing the tango.” The dogs want to join in And scramble to find a toy A bone, a partner to celebrate The joyful dance. Learning to do the tango Was a hard job in itself. When I was young, The turn and the switch Of hands Was the most challenging. Now it comes naturally The greatest part of all Is seeing the joy On my mother’s face When she knows There is good news, Meaning We get to dance the tango. John Roberts, 13Windsor, California
