There Was a Blizzard
Blizzard white snow twirling dancing like another kind of ballerina. I see a girl she is white— seeing something I can't see— a white hawk circling
Poems
Poetry and verse from young voices
View:
Blizzard
white snow
twirling
dancing like
another
kind of ballerina.
I see a girl
she is white—
seeing something
I can't see—
a white hawk
circling
The rustle of rough leaves awakens me from my rest
And I gaze up at a dark sky as vast as the sea
And laugh as the stars tumble into my hair
"How green your leaves are!" the stars whisper in my hair.
"How bright with happiness you are," I sigh.
"No. The sky is cold and lonely," the stars moan.
"At least the birds don't peck at your arms
and the squirrels don't hide nuts in your armpits.
I sit on the porch
The dark woods around me
Insects chirping
And listen
To the distant sounds of the party
Inside.
It is a party thrown for me,
By my parents.
A party I didn't want—
Strangers crowding into our little house
People I don't know
Pinching my cheeks
Muttering lies about
"How she's grown!
The ice and snow are almost melted,
Winter's biting cold has mellowed,
Mountains brown and bare for so long,
Show an almost imperceptible haze of green.
The sky is the delicate shade of thrushes' eggs
Soon to be laid in a nest of mud and twigs.
A mole furrows the earth's brow with his tunneling,
Cautious tongues of green make their way
Through last autumn's leaves into the balmy air.
Mmmm, the man on the bench says as he plunges
a spoon into his mouth.
Aaaah, his wife says as she pulls
out a clean white spoon from her lips.
The woman at the front of the line grins.
A little girl to the left of me is dancing
like a ballerina, with a cup in one hand and a spoon in the other.
Ice is shaved into thousands of pieces.
Conversations have no meaning.
The wind is in my hair as I kick with my foot
The rhythm of my wheels on the cracks of the sidewalk
Thu-thump, thu-thump, thu-thump
The curb is coming to meet me at the end of the block
It draws closer and closer
Its short drop seeming like a cliff
I lean back slightly, about to go off
And then it happens
That sweet split-second in which I am flying, untouched
by worldly problems
Just flying
Then,...
The smell of gingersnaps,
apple cider,
and pumpkin pie
wafting through the air
in delicate swirls
arm-in-arm with the colorful wind.
The shy sun
poking through
the wooden arms
of a lamenting willow.
Golden drops
of warm sunshine
strewn across the yards
of piled leaves and blades of thin grass.
When I was five, I got out of school.
It was the first day and
I had already made friends.
But none of us knew
what was happening.
I heard a lot of talk about
crash mess fall tall.
Why was everyone talking
about mess fall hit hurt
and tears. Fear.
My mom took me home.
The streets were empty.
I heard fire trucks and police cars.
Then my mom told me.
The two towers were missing.
I was five.
The wind
Is blowing strongly into my face.
It feels good.
I close my eyes and lie back
In the wet grass.
It is dark out and everyone else is sleeping.
Everyone but me.
It’s a nice feeling, being alone
Out here.
Ticktock.
I hear the sounds of my watch,
Every second, every minute.
Why does my watch have to remind
Me of the time passing?
It was nice to forget
About time.
Sunlight
Dapples the long white laundry line.
Holding the plastic basket
On my sore hip
I lift a battered, hand-knitted
Cream-colored dishcloth
And hang it on the line.
A monarch butterfly flits about the yard
And a daring mourning dove
Tries to settle herself
On the laundry line.
I watch the line
Swaying in the cool breeze.