The narrator turns a mistake into something beautiful I had just finished sketching a butterfly at my school desk. I grinned and raised my arms over my head, stretching with joy as I looked down at my picture. I had spent fifteen minutes sketching it. I picked up a yellow crayon and started coloring the right wing. Suddenly, Maxine, my friend next to me, bumped me on the elbow. That made an arc around my yellow butterfly picture. Oh, all that work for nothing! But I can’t just start all over again! You have to think of an idea, Norah. I lifted my head and studied my drawing carefully. I thought about places where butterflies land: grass, leaves, flowers . . . wait—flowers? Hmm, that might be useful after all. I said nothing while I colored the rest of my butterfly. But when it was time for the arc I accidentally drew, I smiled a huge smile. First, I drew a circle. (Can you guess what I was doing?) Next, I drew some small half circles. (Can you guess what now?) Then, I drew a stem. (It’s getting obvious.) Finally, I colored it. It was a flower! A pretty, yellow flower! I grinned the biggest grin yet. It was beautiful!
January/February 2024
The Arcadia
Acrylic
The Onlooker
Smoke the only trace Of its existence Surging up to be one with the clouds Swirling shapes that remind of something That we can’t seem to place Bringing tears to the eyes That should have already been there Embers, once flaring with vitality Now ash as they gently land on our Ignorant shoulders There is no line between The: Burnt Burning Untouched Reaching down without avail Staring at the ravaged Yet we can’t Seem to tell our bodies, tell our legs To move down the side of our mountain Lush green Against the backdrop of red seas and black sand Hollowed out inside By none other than ourselves As the cracks start to appear and we Inch further up Away Forever the onlooker
