Here I love you
with my heart burning like a volcano
Ice freezy oceans,
and joy wandering
while I stay in front of this breezy
place, far away from you,
and the dragon in my heart rises
Your “yes” saying could save me
It could banish the dragon
deep in me
when you want to marry me and
(I hope you do!)
It is the only way to conquer me.
Your touch, your kiss
could destroy the wind away
But right now
I’m just out in this breezy
Who knows when the rain is coming?
What in the world are you doing?
Where do birds go in winter?
And when are you coming back?
How much money does a flying car cost?
Does Mars have aliens?
How many aliens are in space?
Why does the rain cool?
Why am I not sitting with you
on this pretty Valentine’s Day?
I am just sitting here on the slide
watching the clouds pass by,
thinking of you. I miss your vibrant
colored shoes. I miss how your elegant
voice said to me, “I love you.”
I miss your brown glossy eyes. I miss
your loose bangs. I miss how you kept me
from danger. I miss how you looked at me
whenever you were mad. You were always
taller than me, like mom and dad.
You are like a dress in a one-of-a-kind store.
If you were here, I would be much happier.
the wall with rose. the model of India Gate with roses at Lalbagh flower show 2010 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
The flaming red
flower with a healthy
stem spreads love and
the world, until the
cold winter comes and
takes the love and
passion away. As the
flower droops more and
more, the leaves fall and
the flower rots. But first,
the flower spreads its seeds
blown by the wind,
so there will be more
passion and love to
do the same thing,
again and again.
My mother talks like an angel.
My mother is the one who makes me food every day,
who gives me a kiss at night
and energy every day.
My mother is the one who paints
and draws with me in the morning,
the person who is always happy
when I have hundreds,
the one who says to me in Spanish
you are my treasure chest
and the person who asks me how was your day?
My mom is a person who has very long hair
like the tail of a pony,
and a person who likes to wear earrings and pink shirts.
My mom is the person who has the prettiest eyes
on the planet,
the person who goes to church and sings,
that’s the person I care about and love;
that’s my cool mom.
Every Valentine’s day, I feel inundated with images of hearts. Construction paper heart cutouts decorate classrooms and hallways, and it feels as if I can’t walk into any sort of shop without being bombarded by floating balloon hearts, candy-filled cardboard hearts, ceramic cup hearts, tiny candy conversation hearts, stuffed fabric hearts. In all their material glory, these saccharine proxies for love never adequately reflect the complexity of what our own hearts contain.
And so it was that about two years ago, I was delighted to see a beautiful untitled sculpture by native Texas artist Lauren Levy which featured a red button heart that bloomed pencil stubs. The inspiring play of delicacy, strength, preciousness and the everyday enchanted me; this image had captured something of what my heart really felt like.
I kick myself every day for not finding a way to purchase that sculpture. However, this artwork did inspire me to ask my young writers what they imagined their own hearts could be made of. With some consideration, these writers produced Valentine-themed poems much more interesting –and dare I say, more heartfelt— than the stock “Roses are red, violets are blue” Valentine chants. Here is one young girl’s response:
My Heart’s Expressions
My heart is a quiet room
filled with candles. My heart
is red and pink unique
buttons. My heart is a tiny
egg wanting to burst out,
with sounds of little baby
puppies whimpering for milk.
My heart is a pocket for
people I love. My heart is
a place for red juicy punch.
My heart is a purple silk
ribbon waiting to be untied.
My mom’s cheeks get red when she falls in Love.
She fell in love with my dad when she first saw him.
This is how it happened:
First my dad saw another man bothering her,
So my dad went over there and said, “Stop bothering her!”
My mom said thank you and her cheeks got red.
My dad’s did too, and he told my mom,
“I will pick you up tomorrow between 5:00 pm and 6:30.”
by Paola, 3rd grade
(painting by Adrian Wallet, via flickr)