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I love the view that’s out my window,

with green and growing things in sight.

I love the spring air wafting from the garden,

and opening that window every night.

But if I could flee to other places,

I’d choose to journey to an ocean shore

with briny waves that keep the rhythm going.

My footprints in the sand will gift me more.

I’d linger swimming with the dolphins

and gather shells with tender pink inside.

I’d take a breath to savor every wonder

and love this place I’m dreaming to abide.

Linda Baie © All Rights

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Turned upside-down,

we leave town
on a train.

New faces.

Strange places.

We float

on a boat.

Little remains.

My world upsets.

Two suitcases.

Two continents.

Two languages.

Two alphabets.

Just one parent,

Only one me…

What will be,

will be…

Lonely

first grade

escapade.

© 2018 Yvona Fast

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Your heavy arms

Dull my senses

Consume my thoughts

Kill my words

An Octopus of arms

Braces my head

Deep breaths release

one tendriled arm at a time

And I escape

Untethered, unfettered

And

Free

© 2018 Kirstine Call

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Reality is a jungle

that hums and buzzes.

Tangled in thickest vines,

suffocating in heavy air,

I will imagine wings.

© 2018 Kate O’Neil

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I crouched

behind

the bag of seed

straining to hear

the crunch

of his approaching

footsteps.

I promised myself

this time

if he came

to open that door,
that magic door,

the one through which my brother and sister vanished,

years ago.

My head pulsed

as I placed my shaking hand

on the knob next to my feet.

He’d asked for forgiveness,

said he’d never do it again.

I believed.

I needed to.

No more.

Now, if he came,

when he came…

a distant crunch…

I turned the knob.

© 2018 Colleen Murphy

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In my small town, summer meant

the swimming pool—and my bike.

I rode through our streets, a grid

of split-levels, schools, a small college.

On one edge of the grid, a highway;

train tracks lined another edge.

At the other two edges, subdivisions

gave way to rolling wheat fields.

Most days, I pedaled to the cemetery

on a hill where the town met the fields.

At the top, I sat on the long grass beside

the sea captain’s grave.

He and his baby daughter died from

the flu in the 1870s. Far from the sea,

in our landlocked town, we gazed out

at the miles of wheat waving in the wind.

When we squinted, we could almost

imagine it was the sea.

© 2018 Gabi Snyder

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Larry Herbineaux,

assigned the desk behind me

in Social Studies class,

was the bane of my existence

all through eighth grade.

Kick

Kick

Kick

Back in those days, they never

changed your seating assignment.

Shy,

unsure,

I never thought to ask

the teacher

to move me.

Kick

Kick

Kick

on and on

on my chair rungs.

“Quit it, Larry.”

He did it to annoy me.

Kick

Kick

Kick

There was no escaping.

I came to hate his tough,

ruddy face,

his short, stocky frame.

Even his name—

Larry Herbineaux—

enraged me.

I was too shy, uncertain, demure,

to take my complaints any further.

And anyhow

there he was again

in Band class.

Like I said—

no escaping.

I played the trumpet,

wanting to be different

from the girly girls

in the flute section.

I should have chosen flute.

Guess Larry’s instrument…

Trumpet.

There he sat

directly beside me,

a virus I couldn’t escape.

All year long I had nothing

to say

as he mimicked my voice

and motions.

Well, almost nothing.

“Quit it, Larry.”

A nice girl.

Defenseless.

Close to the time the school year

was ending,

I suddenly snapped.

Eight long months I’d been caught

in a trap

of Larry-ness.

One final kick, or mimic, or poke.

I don’t remember

what triggered it.

“GO TO HELL, LARRY!”

How I despised him

for making me swear.

For stealing away

my shell

of niceness.

After that moment

he left me alone.

Oh! So this was what it took

to defend yourself

from slings and arrows.
Victory
at the cost

of a small loss

of self.

Strangely,
at the eighth-grade prom

Larry Herbineaux asked me to dance.

Even stranger,

I said “yes,”

accepting his flag

of truce.

© 2018 Heather Kinser

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Wheels turned,

slowly first …

Tasting bumps

using care

but past tracks

they’d take off–

My body became

moving air

a blur of green

a rush of wind

a sense of

breath without

breathing

a longing

for only

that

© 2018 Michelle Kogan

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I would like to be a mermaid,

And live beneath the seas.

I could make friends with fishes,

Or some manatees.

I would swim and dive with dolphins,

And sail on whales’ tails,

Jump rope with octopuses,

Play hide-n-seek with snails.

I’d fashion crowns of seashells

To wear on my soft curls,

Dress up in sunken treasure,

And bright, white oyster pearls.

I’d rest in swaying seaweed,

Or rock on a seahorse,

And waves gentle rhythm

Would help me sleep, of course.

Would you like to be a mermaid,

And live beneath the sea?

You could frolic with sea creatures,

and be best friends with...

ME!

© 2018 Dianne Moritz

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NO BODY, NO BONES: THE WAY THE WILLOWS DANCE

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NO BODY, NO BONES: THE WAY THE WILLOWS DANCE

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I used to dance the way the willows do

easy and flowing,

bending, and the music

(that is the wind to them) moved me.

But willows

have no knees,

hips, spines,
feet that say we've had enough.

They dance,

long slender bodies,

unhinged.

© 2018 Carol Coven Grannick

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