The chair by the avocado tree had turned a faded green from wear For years it sat untouched behind the orange-red sunsets Built for the old lady with the fishing hat who kept forgetting Its purpose was to help her remember To stay in the present of the ink-washed sand And it stayed there till the time of her grandson Sitting by the murky green water with his homework Reminding them of all the beautiful sunrises and afternoon checker games played And his days looking at the intriguing graphite numbers on bleached paper But before then he would wonder if his grandmother would ever be the same again If she would ever remember who he was without a lost look on her face One day Looking at the plants by the seaweed strewn about He took a nearby avocado seed and buried it into the sandy ground He began to take the wood from his backyard to build a chair Hoping it would help her remember He tended to them day by day From the mornings spent on his work To the afternoons sat with the wood Sanding and painting it as the tree grew And he worked right by the shore with the graphite numbers and the wood Making progress as time went on Eventually the chair sat next to the tree And one day the lady with the fishing hat sat in the chair with the tree And remembered the difference that was made Sara Chebili, 13Washington, D.C.
Poetry-Sense-of-Place
The Red Balloon…
When sea captains say they have sailed the seven glimmering seas, I have flown them. When climbers say they have climbed the highest peaks, including the monstrously tall Mount Everest, I have achieved higher heights. When tourists say they have travelled all over the world, I have done it more times than I can count. But I am only a vivid dark, red balloon with a loose white string. My master was really playful, he was about 7 when I left him. One day he lost his grip and I rushed towards the blue sky like a graceful bird dancing. From that second on, it was my quest to find him. A few years later, I navigated the winds as they talked to me and told me where to go. I crossed the golden sand beaches, crystal clear, transparent, ice-cold glaciers. I have felt the slight tickle of the lush green grass of the forever blooming countryside. I have felt the burning scars of crashing into cliffs or skyscrapers. One morning, I smashed into a fence where a bunch of bags told me to go to the vortex in Antarctica. Soon I let go of the fence and rushed into the sea. Then I spent years trying to find it. I mastered the currents of the water as I mastered navigating the wind. Finally after a few years, I found it. I was free! No more political roars no more cars or horns. I was free! I found myself in a freezing pool surrounded by millions of other balloons. But every moment I thought of my master. Someday, somehow, sometime and somewhere I will find him… Rafi Mohammed, 10Newcastle upon Tyne, UK
I Remember the Water and the Wind
I remember the water and the wind — in the Adirondacks, in our small blue canoe. I remember the child’s paddle in my hands, with the muscles on my back and shoulders, tense and pulsing, with each stroke. I was maintaining our position in the water because I wasn’t strong enough yet to move us forward like Dad or Mom could. I remember how the rain hit my small back and stung each time, like bee stings. And I remember fighting the two-foot waves that splashed over and into our blue canoe. I remember feeling so powerful, and invincible, even though a good wave could flip us, and even though I was five, I felt strong. I felt strong among the storm, among the bee-sting rain, among the sharp wind, among the two-foot waves that soaked me, among my little sister, three years old and scared. And I remember being within all that chaos, and thunder and lighting, and tense muscles, and strong paddle strokes, and pumping blood, and chaos. I was immersed in the water and the wind. And I was laughing. Callen Bailey, 12Lewisburg, WV
