Harpeth Hall Intersections 2023

Intersections

Spring 2023

“Where I’m From”

by Sara Huddleston, 7th grade

I am from bright, late afternoon sunsets from watching the world go dark with loved ones.

I am from my kitchen a homey room with a tired, peeling wood table as the centerpiece.

I am from “touch down” and “gosh darn” in a place full of rainey, cold football sundays.

I am from creamy ice cream and perfectly crafted sushi from Susana and Ben.

I’m from the never give ups and always work hards, from good memories and bad ones.

I am from a large book with an endless amount of stories to tell and pages I can recite as if they were my own.

I am from exciting travel and by huddling by calm, cozy, comfy, fireplaces as warm as an oven. I am from my back porch, a gathering place from “how was your week” and a place to connect and spend time with family.

From photobooks, and albums pooling with images of people and places, I am from a plethora of memories. From these moments, trapped in my memories, just another girl in my family tree.

“Spine Poetry” by Emma Cropsey, 8th grade and Greta Haroldson, 8th grade

“Flames on Film” by Fina Welhoelter, 7th grade

“Tiger Lily” by Abigail Cary, 5th grade

Intersections

A publication of The Harpeth Hall Middle School

Intersections is proud to present this year’s magazine, comprised entirely of submissions from members of the middle school.

Faculty sponsors

Mrs. Mary Wheeler

Ms. Joan Curry

Mrs. Megan Kennedy

Front cover illustration

“Radiant Heart”

by Annie Coltea, 6th grade

Back cover block prints

7th grade

“Blue Heart”

1. by Elle Stanley

2. by Adel Ambrose

3. by Penny Hemingway

4. by Elle Belle Graf and Harper Mobley

5. by Kessler Moran and Louisa Ekiss

by Camilla Hare, 6th grade

by Luna Kear, 7th grade

Sometimes life is hard to face. We can fight, and scream, and try to change the world, but that takes courage. It takes energy. And the funny thing about life is that the easiest way to lose courage is doing nothing. I’d wanted to do something for a long time. In fact, I had tried to, but each and every time I was beaten down again. Even once I stopped trying, it haunted me. The fights, the words, the screams. As hard as I tried to block it out, I would wake up in the middle of the night, thinking about how I had given up. I would torment myself that I had let it all get to me. Why let them change you? I asked myself. And my answer was, time. Time was what had stopped me from fighting. All the time in which I had cried. All the time in which I had thought that what I was doing was pointless. And sometimes it is. Sometimes it is good to give up. But not when it is something worth fighting for.

I realize that now. And that is why I still rise each day. Because I hope that I will gain courage. I hope that I will find some way to get back up again. Each day, I think of the stories I have been told. The ones of brave heroes. The ones that fought. The ones that fought and then sought solace from the things they had done. And I think that maybe someday I can be like them. But I am not yet. Because I have not yet fought.

And then I think how much easier it would be to fight if others fought too. If we were surrounded by fighters, instead of bystanders. How different it would be if we fought instead of watching the world burn. If we tried to find the water to douse those lethal flames. If we were brave enough to leave our home towns in search of that clear, blue steam which can cleanse all. If we fought for the truth instead of lies.

“I Am”

by Emma Pope, 7th grade

I am a laptop.

Thinking all the time, Loading slow, Losing my flow, Pausing to take a break, Restarting to erase my mistakes, Sleeping when no longer needed, Cracking if I am dropped, Helping my owner with autocorrects, Trying my best, I am a laptop.

I remember being told of those days in which our nation was founded. I am told it was founded on trust. On the trust that we would fight for truth. And I wish that we still upheld those principles. I wish we still fought together, instead of splitting down the middle. Now there are so many divides. Divides between men and women, the conservative and the liberal. And I wish that we could see each other as equals. We are all human. We are all finders, and we are all seekers.

But we see each other as different. Even the phrase each other. Other. The simple way of separating our perfect selves from the torrent we do not want to face. But what we must eventually see is that we are part of it. We are part of the race that ruined the world. We are all part of the civilization that puts gas fumes in the air. But if we keep focusing on trying to remove ourselves from that, it will never change. If we cannot unite, then the world will die. It will die from our determination to separate ourselves from it. And we will watch it. All the while claiming that we were not related to the lighters of that great fire.

So I ask you now. Will you claim that you are human? We are not perfect. We will never be. But we can be united. And that makes us all the stronger. It makes us more reliable. It makes us more trustworthy. If we want this nation once again to be strong, we must pull together. We must accept that we are all a part of this world. We must either die together, or all live to see the fixing of our nation. My question. Which will you choose?

“Life Is”

by Clare Bourbeau, 6th grade

“The Rambler”

“Star-Gazer”

“Cyclestory”

“Staring at the Sea”

“Water Color with a Twist”

by Julia Dahl, 5th grade

by Henley Duvall, 5th grade

by Anne Harris Menge, 5th grade

“Found Face and Finger” by Margaret Meyer, 5th grade

“Head”

by Margaret Meyer, 5th grade

“Found Face” by Margaret Myer, 5th grade

by Elizabeth Agnew, 5th grade

“Chaotic Party”

by Josephine Ness, 5th grade

“Journey Ahead”

by Greta Haroldson, 8th grade

Jay pushed his way through the fronds, trekking to the top of the hill.

“Surely there’s another way!” A high, desperate voice protested from behind. Trielle was following him, harsh determination in her steely gaze as she followed his path.

Jay paused and turned to face her abruptly, immediately regretting his sharp expression as his younger sister stumbled back. “Trielle, we have to find our family. I know it’s scary, but there’s nothing else we can do.”

Trielle frowned, lips in a tight line. Her eyes cut daggers into his. Her face was red from yelling and crying, tears carving through dirt. “I know. But . . . You can’t just leave me here.”

“I’ll be back soon. And then, then . . . Then we’ll have food, and Mom and Dad. Right?” His words were an offering, both of peace and comfort. Trielle remained unresponsive.

“Right?” Jay prompted. “If you head back to the house, I’ll be back before you know it.”

Trielle shook her head, her worn heels digging into the earth. “That’s a lie.” Her voice shook with intensity, her hands balling into fists. “I’m not a kid anymore. Tell me the truth.”

Jay attempted to form words that wouldn’t seem meaningless, but failed.

Trielle stared at him, at a loss for words. “Jay. Please. Just . . . ”

“I- We can’t stay here, Trielle! How long has it been since Mom and Dad left?”

“I am the delicate dandelion”

by Olivia Grace Akatue, 7th grade

I am the delicate dandelion

Dancing in the wind

Swaying from side to side

Blown into the brisk air by the puff of a child

Whisked away by the sigh of Earth’s distress

Leaving behind my bare stem

Wilting under earth’s tears

“I Am”

by Zoe Johnson, 7th grade

I am the glistening frost,

Climbing up the rough peeling bark of the old magnolia tree, Curling myself around jagged holly leaves.

Melting as the warmth of the sun gently kisses me, Dropping down to the emerald grass with ease.

“At least they left together.” Trielle said bitterly, and she seemed as though she was about to turn on her heel and leave, but then stopped. Her fists uncurled, and she glanced at Jay with a gleam of newfound joy. She grinned, an unnatural expression considering the recent months.

“We should leave together,” she said, with an air of confidence and utter assurance, bounding forward to put her hands on her brother’s shoulders. “You have to take me with you.”

Jay shook his head, opening his mouth to protest, but was cut off.

“Like you said. It’s been months since Mom and Dad left. If you were to leave me, you might never return, and I would never get on all by myself. I’d starve!” She widened her eyes on the last word, shaking Jay slightly. “See? That’s what we should do.”

Jay took a step back, and Trielle’s arms fell to her sides. Her joyous expression fell, replaced by a vague mix of anger and disbelief.

Jay pulled his satchel off, and dug in the bag, searching for a fabric that had once been part of their mother’s quilt. He grinned and yanked it from the bag. He wove the white embroidered fabric in the air for a moment, then put it in Trielle’s hands. She accepted the white flag.

“Alright then. Let’s go.”

“Life of Friendship”

by Elizabeth Eyler, 8th grade

We cocoon in a fuzzy blanket in front of a screen and talk of receiving roses and invites at the same time and as if one, a voice sings our favorite song, the “Count on Me” tune. Going away without you, yet we are still together. The hobbies and words we once shared, and mistakes we overcame. They never leave my memory, constant like sugar in bakeries. Memory stops to think at a turn in the trail. Your friendship is always there through it all.

Striking line from “Hope is the thing with feathers” by Emily Dickinson

“Where I’m From”

by Anna Byrns Ragle, 7th grade

I am from the morning, the glistening sunrise, and the warmth it brings. I am from the early hours sitting on the front porch. The peace only disturbed by the birds roaring like opera singers.

I am from school and after school sports, waking up early and getting home late. I am from mind bending, exhaustion, Effort and hardwork. I am from long practices and even longer school days. I am from sweat slowly crawling down my face. I am from friends laughing their heads off who can make fun out of boredom Who never seem to run out of energy.

I am from evenings when homework is a breeze. I am from burgers cooking on the grill, and string lights reflecting glamorously off the pool. I am from Jack and Lewi yelling to get my dad’s attention and the screaming which never seems to end. I am from fun nights in the driveway riding anything I can find with wheels. I am from everyone hanging out together outside.

I am from the relaxing sunset, the fading sun that tucks away behind the horizon. I am from winding down and getting tired, when the screams finally come to an end. I am from the lingering taste of toothpaste and nestling under the covers, Flipping the page of a good book Until my eyelids are just too heavy. And my eyes slowly and sluggish sink down until I’m snoring the night away

“I am Never Enough”

by Olivia Decastro, 8th grade

I brush and style every morning

Just to be dismissed

I heave the heavy load of expectations

Just waiting for a glance of acknowledgement To free me

Why am I never enough?

I work hard, study hard Go through pain, but have no gain

I see my friends, the people who see through The wall of steel called protection

They pave the path for me

Helping me through But I am still never enough

The need for acknowledgement

Grows stronger

And the endless tower of expectations Grows taller

I try to push through and ignore But I can’t ignore

I am not enough.

The leviathan of thoughts compels me The structure of my character twisted

I am never enough.

The words of the ghosts of the past Still leave a wound unhealed

I am never enough.

I fall deeper into the darkness

My tower of expectations along with me Covering me, suffocating me

But then, I see

I see the light of self love and appreciation I reach out and I feel free As I float, I say the words that had seemed taboo before, I say . . .

I am enough.

“Farm Sunrise” by Pierson Willse, 8th grade

“The Door”

by Freya Heard, 8th grade

One day a year, 20 people were called to the Grand Library for an opportunity like no other. In a world now filled with poverty, hunger, and despair, they were given the choice to either leave the world they lived in now to walk through a mysterious door, or disappear into the book that they selected off the shelf. The catch was that they only had one chance to choose a book. Once the book was chosen, they could either sink into a fantasy world, or stick around to see what alternate reality was on the other side of the door . . .

Maisy was 16 when the letter arrived. All her family had died the previous year, and she was barely scraping by with her job at the nearby grocery store. As she returned to her one-bedroom flat after a long and unsuccessful shift, the sky lit up with the public announcement that the annual selection had happened. Thinking nothing of it, Maisy was surprised to see the letter waiting for her on her doorstep.

Now, three weeks later, the Grand Library had opened and Maisy along with 19 other “chosen ones” waited in line for their turn. Would they leave the world they lived in behind, as they didn’t really have anything to lose? Or would they enter the door? Rumors as to what lay behind the door were varied and often unreliable; the system with which Grand Library day was organized wouldn’t share anything about what lay on the other side of that mysterious door.

Maisy was called and pushed open the heavy doors to the library. Sweeping staircases and tall, stained glass windows added to the enchantment of the library. It would have been a beautiful place if those who went in didn’t know they would never be leaving the building the same way again.

As she trailed her fingers over cover after cover, Maisy finally selected an old, brown book, its cover embroidered with a gold lace and pages so old and yellowed they looked like they could fall off at any minute. She sat down with her selection and carefully opened the book, reading the title. She had chosen a fantasy book, filled to the brim with dainty princesses, little gnomes, magical mushrooms, and gorgeous gowns. It was the perfect escape from the world she lived in.

However, Maisy hesitated before making her decision. She was being given the best opportunity to turn her life around, in a new place, with a new family and a shiny palace. But still, the mystery of what was on the other side of the door drew her eyes up. It was a solid slab of smooth mahogany, with no windows or other decorations. The only thing that was special about this door was the doorknob. It was a bright blue, made with the same wood as the door, smoothed down until there was no chance of getting any splinters.

She closed the book, placed it on the table, and finally decided to walk through the door.

“Beach Sunset”

“Fire Sunset”

“Beach Houses”

photos by Pierson Willse, 8th grade

“If Only”

by Palmer Reynolds, 6th Grade

If only I could be happy with what I got in life and not always hope for more. More money, recognition, friends, attention. If only I realized that if the biggest issue in my life was not being the favorite out of my friends, then my life was practically perfect. If only I could see that I went to this school and have people who love me. But if only I couldn’t see any of that. If only I could just be spoiled like everyone else and not realize any of that. Because whenever I’m sad or upset, I realize my problems are miniscule compared to those of some. There are families who have lost their children and homeless people on the streets, and I’m crying over a friend situation or a discussion test? If only that didn’t make me feel stupid and invalidated. If only I could have it all.

“I Am”

by Elise Amara, 7th grade

I am a dollar bill, Traded for a vine of grapes, Scattered across the dusty floor of Costco, Lying soundly in the cash register of the fifth checkout line, Crowded with germs and viruses, Folded neatly next to the perfume in my owner’s pocket.

“Seeds”

by Cecelia Cummings, 5th grade

“Pods”

by Percy Ewald, 5th grade

“Art Room Studio”

by Shelby Odubeko, 5th grade

“Art Room Studio”

by Maddie Wright, 5th grade

“A Memory to Make a Smile”

by Harper Bolin, 6th grade

I knew Pa was dead. While I was tending to his grave that autumn day, the memory was washing like water over my rocky mind. I remember seeing his body as dead as a doorknob lying across the street. His eyes were still open and the carriage driver was lifting one motionless limb after another. The horses had run over him, and the carriage wheels had cut his throat. A bit of blood was stained across his freshly ironed shirt and the edges of his mouth were stained a deep crimson. The driver said it was a life that ended too short after the last twitch of Pa’s eye to seal the lid over those seafoam hazel eyes. The color had drained from my brother Charlie’s face and Ma had stared in horror at the sight of her husband dead. I will never forget that day. That fateful day at the end of summer when my little home life turned topsy turvy.

“Katherine, please go tend to little Anne,” Ma said with a surprising spring of joy in her voice. It had been three years since Pa had died, and Ma and Jack were getting married next week. I had a new little sister named Anne, but Charlie was the same old brother. He had taken Pa’s death upon himself and hated anything related to Jack even though he had another boy in the family. He was less grateful and smiled less. I loved Charlie’s smile though; it was Pa’s smile.

My mind is like a stone. When a thought or idea comes in, the little blacksmith slowly makes an indent, and the harder I think about that thing, the deeper the hole in my mind gets. I had been thinking about the event leading up to and the death of Pa. That hole was miles deep now, and that poor blacksmith must be exhausted. I couldn’t help it though. The closer Ma and Jack’s wedding was coming, the more I thought about whether Jack could replace Pa. “Don’t believe it, Katherine, don’t believe it,” I repeated to myself over and over again. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t smile.

Pa had been a blacksmith when he needed to be. He fixed the same wheels that one day would kill him. There was no limit to the things he did for our family. Jack could fix a decent meal, but he never put the love, care, and time that Pa had. The night before Ma married Jack, I stared into the night and wondered if Jack would ever be like another Pa to me, but I didn’t think anyone could replace my Pa. Jack didn’t have the kind look in his eyes, but more one that would kill you if you made the wrong move. I don’t know what mom saw in him, but whatever it was I couldn’t see it and neither could Charlie. No one ever could replace him as I lay there still like the way I found Pa that sad day.

“Katherine, are you still awake?” I heard mom whisper outside the room.

“ Yes,” I quietly replied.

I could tell her what I was thinking about or I could not. I smiled with a bit of gloomy sorrow when she walked through the door and sat on the edge of my bed.

“You know, Katherine, this used to be my blanket.”

“Yes.” She had told me this a dozen times before, but I had never thought about it with meaning like I did right now. I was being so ignorant every time she said it.

“ Ma, I want to know what you’re doing tomorrow . . . oh yeah.”

“You know what, you precious little bridesmaid.”

This made me feel like a little girl again.

And I smiled.

by Charlotte Fusco, 5th grade

“Duchess”

“Slipped Through the Fingers” by Maggie Meacham, 8th grade

“Meadows” by Greta Haroldson, 8th grade

Skipping

“If I Could…”

by Miller Johnson, 6th grade

If I could time travel

I could go back in time

Maybe to the ’80s

Because riding bikes and roaming freely sounds totally tubular

Or I could go back farther

To see what gangs were like in the ’60s Greasers or Socs, which one would I be

Or I could go back farther

Meet the first president

Witness the beginning of our country

With duels, wars, and violence

Or I could go back farther

To being cave people, out in the wilderness

Being free and not caring what others say

If I could time travel

If I could time travel

I could go to the future

Maybe when there are flying cars

Zooming across the sky

Maybe when we could live on another planet

Possibly discover a new species

Maybe when robots could take over the world

It could be bad, but maybe not

If I could time travel

If I could time travel

I could stay right here

Not in the past

Not in the future

But in the present

With all of my amazing friends and family who loves me

With my school, my teachers, my life

Where would I go

If I could time travel

“Rain”

by Faith Urban, 6th grade

The tiny taps you hear on the glass, at home in your room, or at school in your class. The water falls down, way up from the sky, it hits the ground, and more fall from up high. One drop on your head, and you can feel its power, more and more rain, until it’s a shower.

A flash through your window, lets you know that it’s here, the fierce and strong storm fills your head with deep fear. To some it maybe be frightening, or to others exciting, but to be cozy with closed eyes, hearing the storm gain, makes you appreciate our relaxing and peaceful rain.

by Louisa Wang, 8th grade

Journeying, searching for my flock, I’ve voyaged and traveled and wondered each time I have heard the twitter and gossip marking another city or town or nest, have I found it?

I long for the descant of a community in strong voices, singing ballads of love and heroism, shielding them against the chillest winters that threaten their land, or a simple shore reside, overflowing with fresh food that’s free if you’re fast enough and unique visitors from every city, country, continent, on this wondrous globe. I wonder if I will ever find the nest I’ve so desperately yearned for, if I will ever know what that may be, or if my strangest journey will never end, just a lone gull wandering the wide open sea.

Striking line from “Hope is the thing with feathers” by Emily Dickinson

by Madelyn Michael, 5th grade “Hand Study” by Hudsyn Waddey, 8th grade

“My Flock”

“Playground

Haiku” by Emma Cropsey, 8th grade

sunshine beams down and air carries the scent of spring playground of old memories

“If Only”

by Ella Steele, 6th grade

If only pigs could fly

And trees could speak

If flowers were as tall as the trees

If only there was no sadness was no fear

If everyone had hope

If everyone cheered

If only there was no homework

Was no stress

No wasting all of your years of childhood

Overthinking about a test

If only every child didn’t want to just grow up

If only we knew getting older

Was sometimes going to get really tough

If only we stayed in the present

But still remembered the past

If only sadness was always temporary

And happiness would forever last

If only we listened

But still spoke out when we thought we should

If only we could go back

And change “if” to “would”

“Discrimination”

by Simmons Ford, 5th grade

Discrimination

We all know it

We all hate it

We are not all the same We are all people

Big and small Different colors

Different beliefs

Our differences clash

Making us as sad as eagles that cannot soar

We are unique With flaws and imperfections we learn, but we make mistakes You and I both know consequences of hasty wrong actions and words Causing unforgiving pain

The actions we take define who we are not our small missteps We cannot trust those that cause pain because trust isn’t given it is earned

Once we break that trust we realize how it binds us all together

Like a good book once said “You never know the worth of water until the well is dry”

“Maximus”

“If Only”

by Joya Jones, 6th grade

If only a butterfly couldn’t fly as high as a bird If only it didn’t spread the word

The word of slander And revenge. To ponder On the understanding If there wasn’t a hinge

What if the door Fell on your side

Because I know you Have never cried

Would you feel the emotion

“Your Own Mind”

by Hannah Harwell, 6th grade

by Charlie Williams, 5th grade

“Missing Sock”

by Wynn Fuller, 7th grade

The Universe

The Galaxy

The Milky Way

The Solar System

The Earth

What do these all have in common?

They are not fully explored.

We may have seen them or something in them, but have we really explored them?

No.

The bottom of the ocean

The center of the Earth

Mars

Venus

Neptune

Your own mind.

“Faith”

by Lucy Grow, 5th grade

I am a missing sock

Hiding in the dryer cracks

Smelling lavender dryer sheets and nose burning chemicals

Comfortable is my twin upstairs in the drawer

Feeling seasick and lonely

Begging them to come find me

“Chuck Taylors”

by Ella Causey,

7th grade

I am a pair of white platform Converse

Observing the crime scene of dead ants

Praying to not be worn on rainy days

Tying loose knots in my laces

Providing an extra inch of height

Getting locked away in a dark closet

“Shoes”

7th grade

“Where I’m From”

by Reiling Hillenmeyer, 7th grade

I’m from country tunes And choppy waters. From “You’re out!” and scraped knees. I am from smokey sausage and shrieking crickets on a Louisiana night, Orange lit faces with old times surrounding us.

I’m from “Pretty is as pretty does,” From pick me ups, pep talks. And ceaseless, profound conversations under the blooming, flourishing magnolia tree.

“Look on the bright side,” when times get rough, stormy like the open sea.

I’m from bowl-lick worthy gumbo and pie crust designs like little stories written on each.

I am from gravy drenched turkey, always coming back for seconds. Watching self choreographed dances while indulging in key lime pie.

I’m from rose and thorns and cream-loaded coffee. From sticky seats and framed memories, Mexican Train Dominoes slowly growing off the table like vines.

Laughs and smiles on every face.

“Tracks” by Katelyn Riojas

“Well Loved” by Audrey Harris

“Morning Dance” by Graci Hodges

“Stepping Lightly” by Elle Stanley “Vans” by Gray Proctor

“Pink” by Carson Neumann

“Air” by Mira Brockman

“Broken-In” by Mary Gwin Robbins

“Me & My Shadow” by Ella Causey

by Clare Bourbeau by Faith Urban by Ilsa Christopher by Louisa Cummins

“Where I’m From”

by Sarah Turcotte, 7th grade

I am from heaving piles of dog hair, From the subtle yet annoying clickity clackity of paws.

I am from the overwhelming smell of bbq, From the chorus of referees whistles. I am from Camp Mystic, From gooey cinnamon coffee cake that melts in my mouth. I from skiing the dazzling snowy mountain ranges in Utah, From greens to double blacks. I am from Oak Hill, From reading to algebra.

I am from “I know you tried,”

From “I still love you.”

I am from “Good Evening,”

From the meaningful late night calls.

I am from the invigorating daddy daughter trips, From the noise of roller coasters twisting and turning. Concert tickets spilling from a drawer within my desk, I am from the heartfelt moments I wish I could replay. I am from the phenomenal trips to Europe, From the taste of the spongy moist pretzels in a German bakery.

I am from the log cabin sitting in the lush hills of Wimberly, Texas, From the adrenaline of shooting rifles on the aging back porch. I am from the hour-long numerous noisy Nintendo wars, From the hand-built tree house that in my mind seemed like a castle, I am from the the hours of sitting on a rock trying to hook a single fish, From “Just be quiet! You don’t want to scare them away.”

I am from the short yet exasperating journeys hunting for arrowheads, From the second long thrilling zipline rides.

I am from swimming in the river on a hot summer day, From the slimy and rough river bed beneath my feet.

I am from the glamorous visits to Park City, From almost skiing right off the rocky mountain edge.

I am from my brother’s younger self reciting, “Hi, I am big boy, Will.” I am from the moments that make me laugh just thinking about.

I am from the long yet ludicrous car rides to Rosemary beach, From the smell of saltwater to the palm trees dancing majestically in the wind. I am from all the small and tiny moments that will always be important to me.

“I Did Not Have to”

by Zarai Armstrong, 8th grade

I walk down the hallway

With whispers behind my back

I don’t care because I am me

And they should know this by now

I don’t want to be pushed into society

Where I know I don’t belong so what is the point of trying to be someone I am not

I did not have to play by their rules

But I did

I did not have to listen to their lies

But I choose to

Everything used to be different

From what it is now

I don’t have to be them

So I have choices, right

Take rest and feel free for a moment

I know it’s difficult

And that’s okay

Just try and wait

Don’t be persuaded to not be yourself

You are beautiful the way you are

I don’t play by their rules anymore

I feel free

I don’t listen to their lies

I feel empowered

Everything is different now

I don’t have to be them

I guess I am okay now

“Family Tree Tapestries”

6th grade

“Basil”

by Julia Dahl, 5th grade

“I Am”

by Elise Amara, 7th grade

I am a dollar bill, Traded for a vine of grapes, Scattered across the dusty floor of Costco, Lying soundly in the cash register of the fifth checkout line, Crowded with germs and viruses, Folded neatly next to the perfume in my owner’s pocket.

“Where I’m From”

by Kennedy Sanders, 7th grade

I am from art.

From imaginary characters in our living room. Rosa, Vickey, Bob, Micheal, and Gustavo. (4 ½ houses I called home.)

I am from music, so much music.

I am from Gospel, Pop, R & B and Hip Hop. Belting and car rides, faces become red because of moms screaming.

I’m from Netflix binging, Chipotle, Saturday fashion shows, Chipotle lip smacker collection, and more Chipotle. I am from art supplies, lover of chocolate, clothes and earrings, so many earrings.

I am from Florida, Texas, Atlanta, Ohio, and New York. From sweet potato pie and mac & cheese, make me melt in my own drool every time I’m from ’80s trivia and tons and tons of throw pillows. From water, pools packed or relaxed Swimming until I’m frosty blue.

I am from box braids to afros to puff balls with bows. I am from shiny hair gel and greasy hair oil, that made my forehead glisten like the stars. But I loved every bit of it because it looked so good.

I’m from “Whatever you guys are doing, stop and if you like it I love it” from protective dad. “Come on Kennedy let’s meditate together and want to hear my new song” from loving sister. From “Chrissy crumbled, and oHh mYY gOoOoOdDD” from hilarious brother. “Watch your eyes, and your too much for me” from amazing mom

Compliments and criticism

Perfection and mistakes

by Kennedy Sanders, 7th grade

I am from tank wars and numberzilla, with a side of gum and walkers butter cookies I am from lengthy and hysterical movie reviews I am from car rides home “How was your day”

I’m from every birthday, we sit and look at photos

Look at our corny, immature, emotional but accurate selves on the T.V.---And watch how memory reoccurs until we realize how long it’s been---We realized how fast it goes by.

“Fairy Tale Hat” by Elissa Patel, 6th grade

“Where I’m From”

by Mary Helen Bess, 7th grade

I am from the sun streaming through the windows, savory smells filling my senses as I work. The kitchen now a busy street and metal pots clanging around me. The large white island invites us closer.

I am from the vast blue skies, and the brown playset watching over me. The worn dusty fence hugging me like my mother and a red flag blowing in the wind. The tan mulch crunching under my feet, heated by the sun.

I am from the vibrant stained glass with the pews lined one by one like bumps on a log. The hum of the pipe organ’s song, and “Stop talking.” and “Pay attention.” High heels clicking in the back of my mind.

I am from the vivid sea green beaches, the sun beating down on my back like a hammer. Booming fireworks coming alive, water splish-splashing against my toes, and sand like sugar beneath me.

“Big Bad Wolf”

Faith Kiprono, 7th Grade

Why are you this way?

Always scaring everyone at bay. Those piglets just needed a home While all you did was watch and roam.

Did Little Red seem afraid

As she saw you and probably felt betrayed. While you tried to get her goodies

If you won, would you have eaten some cookies?

The poor little boy was just having fun, Tricking the people ‘til they were done.

‘Til you came along, he couldn’t cry wolf Ate and ate until you were full.

Big bad wolf, stop being this way.

Always scaring everyone at bay.

All these people would have been fine

If you hadn’t come along, and ruined their life.

“A Man’s Best Friend”

by Charlotte Roth, 7th grade

Their slobbery noses sniffing the bees, not realizing the danger, Wet paws, padding on the hard concrete, Galloping to the front door, maybe mom will be home?

Violently shaking their bodies to rid themselves of the rain water, Gulping down their kibble with not a second to breathe, Stroking their fur as they sit right beside you, Dogs truly are a man’s best friend.

“Ocean Memories”

by Pierson Willse, 8th grade

“Palm Trees” by Pierson Willse, 8th grade

“Fence Line”

by Pierson Willse, 8th grade

“Perspective” by Hope Ragsdale, 8th grade

“Cloud”

by Carlisle Gambill, 8th grade

A cloud

Simple yet complex

There yet not Rough yet soft

Floating through the air

Creeping up above Always following behind Fitting into the sky just like a glove

Shading the world from sun

And making the sky rain

Clogging what was once clear

And sometimes even creating fear

A cloud

Hollow yet full

Dark yet light

Here yet out of sight

“Too Much”

by Francie Beck, 8th Grade

Too tall, Too pale, Too skinny.

Too sad, Too annoying, Too friendly. These are insecurities.

“Too” is a toxic word: It means overdoing. Everyone is “too” something; This word adds up.

Too one, two, three, Too four, five, six.

“I am” is a better phrase: It states one’s being. Everyone is something, These words add up I am one, two, three

I am four, five, six. And I am not too much.

“Avoidance”

by Niamh Manning, 8th Grade

Avoidance.

A mask that hides us. Our problems, our anger, our miseries come knocking at our door. We do not let it in. Turn.

“The Speech”

by Ellie Nickoloff, 8th grade

The world is spinning, My feet are still.

I stand tall with confidence, leadership, and preservation.

My heart beats at a fast unknown pace. My hands begin to shake, Like an earthquake. Nervousness and doubt creep in me, Just like tall vines.

The crowd was behemoth. I stand tall.

My face glistens like stars, right underneath the light. The light then reflects on the past. Speak, Speak, Speak.

The memories appear Speeches, Speeches, Speeches. I stood tall. My mouth begins to widen, Words spill out. My heart starts to flutter less. I am still. My voice grows. I stand with Confidence, Leadership, and Perseverance. The crowd emerges with Great noise, From the applauds of hands. I did it.

Turn and run the other way. Barricade the door with things. The things we wish were true. With lies. Lies to others. Lies to ourselves. Avoidance. Like a game of dodgeball, we stand. No, we hide. Hide in the corner to avoid the harsh blow of our own truth. Unacknowledged and avoided until the door crumples. Unable to bear the weight of our lies and distractions. Unable to hold back troubles, regrets, sorrows and fear

A fear of ourselves. Of our actions and our mistakes. Sometimes, there are no beautiful mistakes.

“What Once Was”

by Eleonore Ness, 8th grade

A lark soars in the wide blue yonder, his melody sparking his mighty wings. He wallows in the warmth, his wings are wide, yet soon find themselves clipped as a heavy mass of dark and menace force his frail body upon his feet. His wings are damaged, tied to the chains of his sorrow, so broken and wearied. Yet he recalls what once was, opens the familiar scent of hope in his heart, and allows his throat to call for the sunshine, to soar once more and to sing

“Rainy Walk”

by Grace Stephan, 5th Grade

“Where I’m From”

by Georgia Wolter, 7th grade

I am from friendship bracelets

From the beginning until the end

Clinging to its strings wishing to never fall apart.

I am from two built-in best friends

Whose hands will never let go. From the fallen tree whose arm Held the weight of three.

I am from the swing that survived. The swing that whipped through spring storms And gripped on to summer’s warmth

The swing that carried the “Lava Masters” And brought three girls closer than The word Forever.

I am from “Wonderful Wednesdays with the Wolter women at Wendy’s”

From classic Frostys and fries

And trivia that I will always remember The feeling of always pouring into my heart

I am from my mom’s love for candles

And our house feeling bare without them

The teardrop shaped, marvel or colors, Melting the wax to bring fall to life.

I am from weekly trips to Target

From riding in a concert on wheels

To coming back with what seems like a mountain of necessities

I am from grandparents

Their house my second home

Always drawing me in with the scent

The scent of comfort that all grandparents seem to have.

I am from neighbors.

No knocking or ringing

Just open doors.

I am from the sharp wind biting my nose, As I lie there, looking up

Looking up at a blank canvas.

A canvas freezing under me

As it holds on to the last bit of cold it has left.

“Life Is”

by Elyana Borek, 7th grade

Life is like a camera, You capture the good moments, And save them to look back on, You try to not think about the bad, Or you try to learn from them, You strive to get the perfect outcome, But don’t worry if the outcome wasn’t what you expected, Just give it another shot

“Daisy”

by Simmons Ford, 5th grade

“Cafeteria” by Greta Haroldson, 8th grade

“Slammed” by Abrielle Davis, 7th grade

SLAMMED off its hinges Separated from itself Exposed to the world

Crash, bang, thudding plates wafting aromas, variety of choices

Slowly the days start to seem shorter, Slowly you're already in the next quarter. Slowly the nights don't feel like a climb, Slowly you learn to manage your time.

Slowly your relationships start to strengthen, Slowly your confidence changes each season; Slow are the days but quickest of all, The year flies by with no time at all.

“Over Time”

by Helen Weatherford,

“Dog in Blue”

by Elissa Patel, 6th grade

“Wind”

by Harper Power, 5th grade

6th grade

“Through the Ages”

by Savannah Sweeting, 6th grade

Carefully you grab your brush, Carefully you start, you do not rush, Carefully your tool hits the page, Carefully you create your wage,

Carefully a story begins to start, Carefully your painting grows heart, Carefully you make 2D come alive, Carefully your painted characters thrive,

Carefully purchase is made, Carefully you get paid, Carefully someone hangs your art, Carefully It becomes a family part,

Carefully it is passed down through the ages, Carefully time wears its page, Carefully a mother hands it to her son, Carefully a new story has begun.

Smile daily

Laugh often

Treat people kindly

Work happily

Cry joyfully

Think deeply

Run cheerfully

Speak bravely

Act differently

Live gracefully

Work quietly

Interact kindly

Sleep deeply

Speak honestly

Breathe calmly

Organize weekly

Listen patiently

Eat regularly

Write neatly

Make mistakes constantly

“Attitude Advice”

by Emma Weiler, 6th grade

“Poorly Made Home”

by Mary Martha Nord, 8th grade

I am a poorly made home

Filled with a flood of expression

A behemoth of dust roars throughout me, Covering all throughout my familiars. Inside I am crumbling, Needing of support.

I only begin slowly withering, Until I can’t take it anymore.

My builders try to fix my broken pipes And blistered foundation

Nothing can fix my esteem.

My supporters, including me, stand beneath me, Breaking their promises as my paint begins to chip My walls begin to fall and the lights go out

I am not poorly made, I am poorly taken care of.

“School Advice” by Ilsa Christopher, 6th grade

“The Pig”

by Avery Grace Cary, 7th grade

Pig! Pig! sitting in mud

Not wanting to see your blood, Not daring to cry

Do you ever wish that you could fly?

Swimming in unlimited skies

Do you ever wish you were in a disguise?

Do you wish for birds to not soar? Would you be adored?

Why would you deign change?

What else do you wish to rearrange? Not daring to cry, Do you ever wish that you will fly?

“Haiku”

by Adelle Pitts, 8th grade

Crunchy leaves crumble

Delicate veins break beneath The shoe’s final blow

“Song of Spring”

by Emma Cropsey, 8th grade

The bow g l i d e s across the strings, Soaring into a thunderstorm Of chaos and melody. Quick fingers pluck notes In a cascade of raindrops That fades away into Something sweet and smooth. A deep harmony roots itself As it grows up to join A heart-aching melody. It is brimming with hope A promise of what would come What could come. A song of spring.

“Troubles”

(Inspired by Pandora’s Box) by Philomena Elsbernd, 6th grade East and West, South and North, Troubles travel everywhere, back and forth In the sky or on the ground, Troubles will be there, following you around Whether you’re here or there, Troubles are everywhere It doesn’t matter if you try to get away, Troubles will come back the next day When there is nothing left to say, Just know that hope is coming your way

“Waves”

by Evie Runzo, 8th grade

The green sea waves and rumbles, falling with a sigh against the broken rocks.

“Lost in the Stars”

by Molly Warner, 6th grade

“Valentine’s Day Love Math”

by Abi Kullock, 7th grade

by Aadhya Gattu, 6th grade

Dear Math,

You are the coefficient to my x, the calculator to my problems

Together we are a whole but without you I am a fraction

One day you left me and I was a half

But then you came back and our love was multiplied

You are the numerator and I am the denominator

Add us together and the sum will not be divisible

Our love is like Pi, never ending and a perfect square

You left again and I went down to ⅓ so now I am on my own, no love, no hope I found you again and you will stick to me like a coefficient to a variable

For now I say goodbye because I know you were always a lie.

“Nurture Love”

“A Haiku Year”

by Elizabeth Eyler, 8th grade

Summer:

Full of sun and fun.

Finally done with homework. Hanging out at pools

Fall:

Back to school again.

Meeting soon to be new friends. Ready to begin.

Winter:

Wishing for snow days. Break has finally arrived. Holidays are here.

Spring:

Long days with short nights.

Dreading the coming deadlines.

Waiting for school’s end.

“I Remember Trying…”

by Julia Dahl, 5th grade

I remember the time I tried to do do makeup on myself, but I failed.

It all started 5 years ago…

It was me and the blush, sitting, waiting, lurking.

I grabbed the brush, poof, poof, poof, “perfect”, I said. 1 down 2 to go.

Next, the powder

I grabbed and dumped, then smoothed. Lastly, my most challenging peer yet, The MASCARA!!!

I opened the mascara.

1 step at a time I applied the mascara not missing a spot on my face. I go downstairs hoping no one will notice. Let’s just say, they noticed I have a picture of myself from that experience to this day.

Hopefully I learned my lesson. I am not good at makeup . . . Yet.

“Growing Up”

by Sanjana Geevarghese, 7th grade

Too young

To understand

Someone must win

Someone must lose

Someone must be better

Let my head go free

Forgive a girl for this

Everything disappearing

Cold dread gripping me

Whirled together spun apart

I look in the mirror

I look in my eyes

I despise

This someone gazing back at me

At the bright and dark corners

Looking like a foreigner

More like a stranger

With this weird behavior

“Manicure”

by

Miller Johnson, 6th grade

Work enthusiastically

Ask questions thoughtfully

Listen attentively

Speak politely

Help others kindly

Laugh often

Give generously

Think critically

Lead confidently

Live honorably

“Life Is”

by

Life is like a camera, You capture the good moments, And save them to look back on, You try to not think about the bad, Or you try to learn from them, You strive to get the perfect outcome, But don’t worry if the outcome wasn’t what you expected, Just give it another shot

“A Word of Advice” by Alexa Sarb, 6th grade

“School Is” by Annika Abramson, 6th grade

“Life Is” by Savannah Sweeting, 6th grade

Elyana Borek, 7th grade

“Giant” by Kennedy Sanders, 7th grade

“Nobody is a Nobody”

by Hannah Harwell, 6th grade

Somewhere else

Not too far away

Grows a field

Where the children play Trees, vines, Ponds and more

Where there is happiness

Galore

“No One Is Perfect”

by Faith Urban, 6th grade

Everyone has a life

Everyone has honor

Rules by which they strive

Everyone has grit

A power to help keep them alive

Everyone has a voice

Everyone has a choice

Everybody is a somebody

Nobody is a nobody

No one is perfect, but no one is bad. You will sometimes be happy, but sometimes be sad. You will make mistakes, but that’s how you grow. You will learn along the way, stuff you didn’t know. There is room for improvement, it will always be there. You are who you are, so do not compare. If your friend got an A, and you got a C, it is what it is, it’s probably meant to be. No one is perfect, so do not be sad. Yes, no one is perfect, but no one is bad

“Fourth of July”

by Ruby Mae Russell, 8th grade

The night was shrouded in thunder.

Bombs from a battle newly won

And yet our flag is waving

It has been waving for years

All around

The sweet sound of victory

The sky lit

By the shimmering fiery symbols of Freedom

Even the trains screech their Praise

For a country proclaiming its Victory into the night

Perhaps the circling stars

Would understand

That this event is not about

Fame or fortune

But maybe

About people who made Our world as it is

“Small Actions, Big Changes”

by Adelle Pitts, 8th grade

by Savannah Sweeting, 6th grade

“I Am a Pinata”

by Olivia Stahl, 7th grade

I am a pinata, Teasing little kids, Promising candy, Swinging back and forth, Dodging the bat we fear most Created to be destroyed, Whack!

Who told us

Even so far away they are

What life is worth living for

The feeling of connection

When all around are flames

Burning in each other’s eyes and in sky

Flames that remind us of so long ago

When pen met paper

And the world perhaps

Changed forever

“Robin”

“Sophia” by Savannah Sweeting, 6th grade

“Spoken Word Poem”

by Adelle Pitts, 8th grade

Alarm clocks blare

Shattering the delicate stillness of morning

Yet time races ahead in the marathon of life

Soon the sky darkens

The sun has fallen once more

When I reach out

To grasp the present moment

To hold it still like a familiar comfort

I become lost in the minutes

And it softly flutters out of reach

Time sprints past me

Pulling me along in the current

With no choice but to move forward

I drag my feet

Waiting for time to slow down

But it keeps the distance between us

Always ahead by inches, minutes, miles, and years

Instead of wallowing in the past

Or sprinting toward the future

I have to take the moments as they are

I have to jog and keep my pace with the steady ticks on the clock

And I have to pick the flowers along the course before I pass them by.

“A Dormant Bird”

by Kyreni Vidalakis, Hannah Harwell, Palmer Reynolds, 6th grade

Illustrated by: Hannah

There is a bird that lies

Dormant

Weak

Alone

Harwell

In the deep dark crevices of my heart

It waits there

Longing

Longing for the sunlight

To thaw its frozen wings

So that it may fly

But sunlight is

An illusion

A light that may only be seen

By the ones who believe

That there is a treasure

Hidden away by the cruel creature that is

Life

The bird fails to realize

That sunlight does not exist

It will forever remain there

Longing

Longing

Longing

“Sadie”

by Madeleine Barker, 6th grade

“Snail Shell”

by Adel Ambrose, 7th grade

A snail shell

A spiral shell

Once inhabited but now abandoned Cold alone

fragile in your hands

One fist could crush it

The snail moved on but the shell did not

“Staring Wall”

by Teagan Brown, 5th grade

I sit

I stare

At a wall that was once there

Not to cry

Not to lie

Just stare

At a wall that was once there

“Cat of Spades" by Acklen Schaufele, 6th grade

“Cat in the Breeze" by Helen Weatherford, 6th grade

by Greta Haroldson, 8th grade

“Guiding Sparrow ”

by Isla Hartmann, 7th grade

Sparrow! Sparrow! How do you fly?

I suppose you just soar and close your gloss eyes

Are you just light and nimble and thin?

Do you do turns and loops and spins?

How does it feel to soar oh so high?

Must be a view when the sun fades the sky

Please fly down and show me your ways

So maybe then soon I’ll fly far and away

With the wind in your feathers it must feel divine

You can do what you please not follow the line

Take me with you to gather the twigs

Together we can build you a nest for your kids

My sweet sparrow, why do you stay?

When you have the advantage to go fly away

I suppose your chicks are too hard to leave

I watch as you tend them with your feathery sleeve

I see you sing in the old oak tree

And you are what I aspire to be

But alas not all wishes come true

So I’ll love myself instead of being you

Sparrow, oh Sparrow, How do you fly?

I suppose you just soar and close your gloss eyes

Thank you my sparrow, for guiding my way

But I suppose now I’m am needed to stay

by Madi Walker, 6th grade

When I talk about her I call her a friend

She was a little caterpillar who dreams of flight in day

the nine year old girl who changed before ten

Now I no longer search for my bouquet

She dreams of frilly ball gowns

And a husband at her side

I dream of wearing many crowns

And ruling tide to tide

She dreams of being a mermaid

Singing melodies of sea

Now I become siren

My songs more like a plea

I think of the world

And it needs to change

All she did was twirled

And blocked out the world so strange

She hopes for a body of glass

That looked closed in the center but sand pleasantly ran through

But her wish cursed my bodily mass

Because this is not the way I wish grew

She slept in bed

Oh so comfortable at night

Currently I roll around in dread

For even the dark is too bright

Her dreams of helping others

Were so hollow yet selfless

My dreams are victims of smothers

But their life remains endless

I like to think she became a butterfly

While I lay a lonesome moth

But now all I can do is cry

For the mirror shows us cut from the same cloth

by

“She Became a Butterfly”

“Queen Taylor” by Eva Pearson, 6th grade

“Tree of Knowledge”

by Joya Jones, 6th grade

“Transfer of Light”

Audrey Harris, 7th grade

“Only Together”

“Speak Up 4 Equality”

“Better Together”

“Mental Health Matters”

“Animals Deserve Rights”

“Save the Earth”

“Free Exercise of Religion”

the Turtles”

by Gemma Park, 8th grade

by Aza Scheele, 8th grade

by Ella Murphy, 8th grade

by Ella Baker, 8th grade

by Cate Monahan, 8th grade

by Annabel Farringer, 8th grade

by Annalise Cash, 8th grade

“Save

by Evie Runzo, 8th grade

“Land Back”

“It’s Ok to Ask for Help”

by

“Fragile Like a Bomb”

“Kindling”

by

“Invisible Disabilities”

Emptiness fills the bitter unknown and stifles all warmth but a small flame of hope, hidden away in a corner, buried within the ashes of faded fantasies and caged ambitions twisted beyond recognition. Unlike a bird that stands basking in sunshine on top of the world, the sliver of light falters in the unrelenting confines of the dark, yet it burns with grave persistence toward its goal of reigniting the abandoned dreams.

Striking line from “Caged Bird” by Maya Angelou

Nicole Bragg, 8th grade

“Two Faced” by Violet Williams, 8th grade

by Mac Callen, 8th grade

by Sophie Hong, 8th grade

by Reed Logan, 8th grade

Adelle Pitts, 8th grade

“Blue

Sunset”

by Mimi Steele, 8th grade

“Love is Love”

by Greta Haroldson, 8th grade

“Cruelty Free”

by Molly Uden, 8th grade

“The Stain of Your Products”

by Victoria Newman, 8th grade

“What Once Was”

by

Eleonore Ness, 8th grade

“Melting”

by Jia Tipnis, 8th grade

A lark soars in the wide blue yonder, his melody sparking his mighty wings. He wallows in the warmth, his wings are wide, yet soon find themselves clipped as a heavy mass of dark and menace force his frail body upon his feet. His wings are damaged, tied to the chains of his sorrow, so broken and wearied. Yet he recalls what once was, opens the familiar scent of hope in his heart, and allows his throat to call for the sunshine, to soar once more and to sing.

“A Participle Poem”

by Francie Beck, 8th Grade

Writing a participle poem

Not knowing what to say

Hearing talking around me

Feeling my fingers type over the keys

Wondering what to write

Reading over my work

Feeling lost

Pausing to think

Crinkling the pages

Giving it my all

Asking myself,

“Do I have what it takes to write a participle poem?”

“Starting Own Journey”

by Hope Ragsdale, 7th grade

They tilt their head to the sky

So I tilt my head to the sky

Guide through the forest of issues

And the evergreen, with sadness and pine trees

I look towards them for my answers

How could I answer them myself, who else would I go to?

I wonder if they realize the influence of only themselves.

If they understand that their current step is my hopeful next, would they change it?

Could I predict it?

Possibly become one step ahead?

So I start my journey by taking abandoned avenue towards unfastened chances with no lead to help.

“Less Trash = More Fish” by Mae Mae Galyon, 8th grade

“Opposites Attract”

by Miller Johnson, 6th grade

“Recycle for the Planet” by Julia Spengler, 8th grade

“Unplugged”

by Piper Thompson, 8th grade

by Anushri Ray

by Josie Hassell

”Hand Drawing”

8th Grade

by Sophie Steele

by Gemma Park

by Georgia Orndorff by Greta Haroldson

by Piper Thompson

by Annalise Cash

by Neely Buntin

by Nicole Bragg

by Violet Williams

”Hand Drawing”8th Grade

by Sophie Hong

by Virginia Conner

by Mac Callen

by Elizabeth Eyler

by Annabel Farringer

”A Study of Paper Cups in Charcoal”

6th Grade

by Aadhya Gattu

by Elissa Patel

by London Meade

by Kate Lucas

by Montgomery Stauffer by Willa Rotondo by Hannah Harwell

“Catnap“ by Teagan Brown, 5th grade

“Break Free” by Charlotte Smith 8th grade

“Shining Sun” by Charlotte Smith, 8th grade

“Wide Awake” by Charlotte Smith, 8th grade by Teagan Brown, 5th grade

“I am Poem”

by Lauren Michael Warren, 7th grade

I am from blazing hot summer days

And big brown churches filled with praise

I am from curly hair days afros puffs and waves

Feels like she has been braiding for days

I am from the fire warm, soft, burns then fades

I am from “Only handle it once” and the handymen

I am from the DIY guys and the conversationalist

I am from “You got this boom” And the hard worker

I am from the “No such thing as too many hugs”

I am from the sun room

Fast food on a Thursday night

Snuggled in blankets

Tucked in tight

Watching football till it turns to night

I am from the backyard

Swimming till it’s dark and cold

Watching as the sun tucks behind our home

Running inside trying to escape the cold

I am from the playroom

I am from watching Mickey Mouse on a Monday

To learning a cartwheel on a Sunday

I am from mini concerts with me in the front singing and shouting my parents acting like fans in the crowd

I am from Christmas dinner

Fried okra and mashed potatoes

Fried fish and delicious cake

Trying not to touch the gifts under the tree

I am enough.

“Last to Leave” by Piper Thompson, 8th grade

“Forget Me Not” by Charlotte Smith, 8th grade

“Tiger Lily” by Abigail Cary, 5th grade