I was at the pond one day, feeding the fish, under the hot sun. When clouds have a conversation with the sun. A cool wave of air touches my fingers and toes. The fish swim down to the bottom of the river. I was at the dinner table one night, eating the fat fish I caught, under the stars, the only things lighting the sky. When the lights shut off and flickered. My family rushed to their bedrooms, scared and worried. Even me, the bravest of the group, put down my fish liver. I was in my bedroom one morning, staring at my light switch. “What am I going to do in this hatred?” I thought. So I went to my window and spread out my curtains. My next trip was to flip up the light switch. I was at my desk one afternoon, thinking about my math, when it started sprinkling. “Anything but rain,” I moaned. Suddenly, it started to storm with thunder and lightning partnering together. Maybe the Sun and Moon now switch. Carly Vermillion, 10Indianapolis, IN
Poetry-Reflections
What’s inside my messy head?
What’s inside my messy head? Being funny And when I’m dead. Things I should’ve Done and said. And always stress About things lost And of my actions What will be the cost. Was that joke Weird or funny? Or what I’ll do outside If tomorrow’s sunny. So what’s inside my messy head? Maintaining strength And the day’s Shortening length. Being a star And messed up jokes That I try to tell quietly And how to escape Authority’s yoke. Tommy Swartz, 12McLean, VA
About the Author
When I try my best but no words come I feel worried, like when I drown in lava. How does it feel like to be an author? Great, because everyone will know the work you wrote. It also feels like you are the most important person in the world. When I do not have to think more and I know what I have to write, I feel like sleeping on a giant smooth waterfall full of bubbles. It also feels like getting untangled from a spider web. Gabriel Levy, 9Shanghai, China
