Still. Suddenly, a sweet song, a lullaby. Swinging now. A hush a shush a soft touch caressing my sharp elbows, my shivering toes, my rounded cheeks. Swinging now, Swathed in silken material hush, hush, hush Goodnight sun alone but content not lonely several long seconds… Swinging now. Stars smile at me sprinkling light Each star, its own star like snowflakes. Individuals. Swinging now. I sleep dreams tiptoeing across my mind slippered feet sliding silently. I sleep Safe in my hammock. Swinging now Anamaria Grieco, 13Brookline, Massachusetts
July/August 2016
Tracks
I go to the tracks to think, The ties go on for miles. They let me see the world, They remind me how small I am. The bushes creep into the dirt in the cracks, Even in synthetic structures there is nature. They have sat here long enough to be ruins, And trellises for invasive vines. But they were once signs of progress, Human civilization creeping over unclaimed lands. I go to the tracks to think, There’s a rock a few yards off. It’s big enough to sit on, So I sit and watch. Most remnants of the tracks’ glory days are gone, But I can feel the rush of the wind as the trains hurtle past. Ellanora Lerner, 13New London, Connecticut
Topanga Canyon
Two white cars pass each other on the highway, One maneuvers easily around a red barn, through a twist in the highway, and towards the seashore’s fogbanks, Pulling up the canyon side, the other passes under the shady brambles of a glen, And its destination, far from sight, twinkles reflected only in its seeker’s eye. Now the first car is only a speck on the horizon; the ocean is far from me but not from it, Going fast, the second car enters the woods’ splintered sunlight, unseen to my eye, gone like the nighttime stars, And as the morning star fades, I recall how soon I will have to get in my car and leave this paradise. Coyotes, far on the other side of the canyon, howl; can they feel the loneliness in the air, too? A finch hops onto an ancient locust tree’s limb, its feathers creating a halo of sunlight and joy, Not a care in the world, the finch lifts off, its sequined shard of light following it wherever it goes, Yammering, higher on the cliff; our neighbors’ chickens awake to the already bright sky. On the cliff, I sit; I can see the Pacific before me, like a mirage, moving away through my car window… Now my dream vanishes: I am still here, still sitting in this wondrous place, but for how long, I cannot say. Edie Patterson, 10Lawrence, Kansas
