In my box, I place
the smell of the air on a summer breeze,
the sound of wolves during a full moon,
the first star in outer space,
the anchor thrown off of a ship,
the first word of a baby,
the happiest moments you cannot take back.
In my box, I will place
the love I have for God,
perfect health for everyone.
In my box, I will place
lots of enchiladas
and the best parents.
In my box,
I hold the key,
the shiniest diamond ring,
no more hungry children,
and the crashing waves of the ocean.
In my box,
I hold the next greatest invention,
the one thing that controls animals.
I put in my box
the aroma of roses on a romantic night,
bubbles that never pop,
the sound of starving lions.
The lock is made of spiders,
so if you try to break in to my box,
you’ll get bitten.
The top is sparkly purple
with the movement of the live ocean,
and the sides are made of flowers, smelling like enchiladas.
It shines like the sun,
the bottom, shimmering gold.
by Daniela,10th Grade
In my neighborhood, I hear the sound of the train clashing along the tracks.
I hear my younger siblings fighting over my video games.
I hear cars whizzing around and the sound of my cousin’s truck pull up on the driveway.
In my neighborhood, I can smell the scent of waffles when I awake from a deep sleep.
I can smell freshly baked cherry pie that my mom makes after lunch and the scent of lavenders my grandmother planted weeks ago.
In my neighborhood, I can see the fences that shield the new town homes that were recently built during the last summer.
I can see many bikers and dog owners pass by my home to get to their destination.
In my neighborhood, I can taste the salt that drifted from my kitchen to my room through the air. I can taste the honey we spread over waffles in the morning.
In my neighborhood, I can feel isolation because everybody’s house is fenced off,
And I can feel the security of my home while I’m asleep at night.
by Raynaldo, 7th Grade
You are the sweet smell of roses.
You are Saturn.
You’re like a diamond.
You’re the kindness of a puppy.
You’re as sweet as a cupcake.
You’re like a shiny crystal.
You are like a beautiful garden.
Although you are not the blade of the knife.
You aren’t like the stinger of an ant.
You are not the fiery flames of a volcano.
You are not like a porcupine about to put a quill in someone.
You are the love of a kitten.
You are a fast shooting star.
Does it interest you to know who I am?
I am a raindrop about to fall.
I am also the breeze of the wind.
But don’t worry, you still are the sweet smell of roses.
You are always going to be my friend.
by Sarah, 2nd Grade
The swimming goggles are
my eye’s main facility.
They are my eyes’. . .
They are my friend for
showing me the wonders of
You can stretch them to fit
You don’t want to expand
them too much,
or they will snap and die.
They are my eye’s armor.
They protect my eyes from chlorine and salt.
They let me see without getting my eyes red and sore.
They are a weapon, a slingshot.
They are an extension of my head
and a part of me like a close relative.
They are like glasses that help me see underwater.
Soon they will invent contacts for water,
but I will still use goggles.
I still use them today.
They are my eyes’ closest friend.
By Michael, 5th grade
Into the pond
Dragging weeds, fierce pain
He went under again
Thrashing arms wildly
Then lifted. Head from water
Gulped air into aching lungs
Dreamed his father was carrying him
He did not wonder
He could see over him
Unreal, dark faces.
Old man, boy.
Deep voice, gentle hands.
by Emily, 5th grade
The green bayou
chanting a song,
a lullaby, a Friday laugh
The sun’s truth is
freckles, life, and a
The sky, the storm,
the flames, lightning
cartwheeling into my skin,
into my bones
Tomorrow a daughter is born
into the ocean
into the wind
they swallow hard
Tough, white snow falling
on the clear, fragile
Crowded is my pocket
by Isabella, 4th grade
art by Paul Klee
I am from the stories I tell,
a maple leaf,
our golden well.
I am from a happy place
where people are all around,
a funny laugh, a horse’s neigh,
the music’s healing sound.
I am from a hummingbird,
its little flapping wings,
I am from the big blue crow
that very rarely sings.
I am from a funny elf,
a tingling of the bell,
I am from a mystery,
the mystery, myself.
by Nine, 5th grade
photo by Ken Bondy via flickr
You have come here to recall
all of your childhood.
Walk through the red steel door,
see a big loud TV and a once tall bar.
You hear a little cat run across the brown creaky floor,
into the hall you see the bright light.
Walk up to the big mirror you look and see,
the old you.
Smile to yourself feeling happy to be home once again.
Look to the end of the hall and see a towel
it’s wet and hanging to dry.
Walk into a room you once slept in,
look around to see sea turtles.
See silver shoes by the door so small,
walk across to the brown sofa in the room.
Close your eyes, breathe in and remember
the smell of the pink and black nail polish.
Open your eyes and everything that was
once there is gone,
you are left with nothing but the white
by Clarissa, 10th Grade