My Friends Pens
I’m sorry I stole your pen
I’m sorry I stole your fancy, blue ballpoint pen
but you don’t come across a good pen
TIGER OF THE OASIS
Rolling dunes of pearl-white sand dot the landscape. In the sun’s rays,
heatwaves blur the surroundings into stained glass. The strong winds
blow sand for miles, like water flowing in a river. In the distance,
the sapphire blue water and the luscious green trees of an oasis
sparkle like fireworks in the night. Looking closer, there is a tiger,
a giant tiger with distinct, alternating stripes of orange and black.
Suddenly, the tiger is within a few feet, so close in fact that
the scent is unbearable and its fur is as soft as a cloud. It curls up
and disappears; looking back at the oasis, the tiger is there again,
drinking water like it never stopped.
You wanted to
Today, we will travel back in time. Today,
I will show you the wondrous adventures
of my past. In the far corner, so plain
yet so beloved, is where my first dog ran
into my arms. Heart so full and so happy.
And here, as I smile as we walk several steps
north, is where bonds were built, fun was
had, and laughter was enjoyed. The yellow
plastic slide, so simple yet so fun, held
the foundation of our glorious playhouse
memories. And over here, as I patted down
the old, faithful apple tree, is where trust
was made, falling off the first branch
in hopes our siblings below would
truly catch us. So simple. So old. So forgotten.
This is where memories were made.
The smell of dough fills the cozy warm home
with eager stomachs. Delicate handiwork and love
is kneaded into every movement. Tender and
savory gravy is being warmed on the store for
the perfect topping to the meal. Sliced fruit
sits on the countertop with dogs looking hungrily
at it. The steaming biscuits are placed on old tableware
and dressed with mouthwatering gravy. Fruit is
piled on plates, and juice is filled to the tops of cups.
And all that is left is empty plates and helping hands.
Going down the river.
Going down the river, going down the
fast rapids of the river, I went in
with my kayak, and when I began
to move, time stopped. I felt the cool
of the water, feeling fresh and new.
Oh, the river made me feel.
To commune with nature, to feel the
bond between me and the flowing
water, as I flowed with it.
The surroundings only deepened
my feeling of peace. Oh, how I loved
going down the river.
Where I’m from
I am from nowhere.
I am from moving boxes,
lost & broken items.
I am from tape & dust
littering every floor.
I am from forgetting.
“type it into the GPS”
“what is the zipcode?”
“which way to class?”
I am from history,
Museums & tour guides,
Ancient names & dates.
Act like a local.
I am from long lists of numbers,
Each assigned to a stickered item
shouted over the cacophony of
Each carefully checked off.
I am from long lists of names,
And I am from leaving.
I haven’t spoken to you, you, you
In months, years.
I’ll rattle off my list
of towns, cities, countries, dates.
My life fractured into periods, defined by location.
Where are you from?
Carelessly roaming in a brisk,
open, flowing field,
the smell of cow manure
and fresh cut grass.
The coursing feeling
of tingling and pricking
as I jump onto hay bales.
Flowing feeling of dirty
creek water going
through my toes.
The lost “Rock”
I’m sorry about your ring
the slim fit of the band
was almost too loose on my thumb,
so it must have slipped off unknowingly,
finding a new adventure,
as the next young careless
child places it on their
finger and calls it theirs.
Fayetteville High School
Dates of Visit: April 5, 8
Faculty Sponsor: Angela Clark
Grade Level: 10
Appx. Number Students Served: 63
Visiting Writers: Kate Davis, Mar Stratford, Ali Hintz, Caitlin Plante