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Thursday, March 27, 2014

GRANDMA By Khenny, age 10














Her brown eyes shimmer
and blink in the sun.
Her gum, 
a tuft of blue 
between her teeth.
Her hand waves at me.
Rows of red, blue and yellow flowers float across her dress. 
She smells like apples.
She lives in Laos.
In her garden
grey water drips onto her carrots from the hose.
Her black hair twirls in the wind when she walks home
and her shoes clack on grenade-colored cement.
   

HOCMON By Nhi, age 9










The last time I saw my grandma
she was standing
underneath 
our pear tree.
Its leaves fell onto
her shoulders.
She had 
smooth hands
like silk.
When she 
went to 
parties she
wore a dress the color of roses 
and lipstick the color 
of cherry  blossoms.
Her brown eyes 
are the color 
of my hair.

ROSALINDA By Jessica M., age 9











She knew almost everything
about multiplication and addition.
Even
nine
times
nine.

She had to move away.

On her last day
wind
blew
her hair past her shoulders
when her arms
swung
across
the monkey bars.

Tears
dripped
onto her bottom lip.

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

TEDDY BEAR By Leslie, age 9












I left her
in my old apartment,
pillowed in
the couch.
Her heart was 
still.  
Her paws 
were shaped
like 
little 
rocks.

Thursday, March 6, 2014

MY STROLLER By Tran, age 9

Gleaming
in the sun,
Heart shaped 
spots dot
its nylon seat,
Blue 
as the Saigon
sky,
Its pillow 
puffed 
like a 
cloud,
lulling
me to sleep.
The wheels 
squeak as they
roll.
I had to 
leave it 
behind.
I did not get a new 
one

in America.

MY HIPPO By Jessica C.


Yellow cloth,
Shiny eyes.
My birthday present
from my grandma,
soft
baby
pink ears.

Packing boxes,
Mom’s vase slipped
from her hands,
shattering
on the floor.
One of its shards
sliced
off a piece
of
its
space
green
heart.

My mom sewed
it back together,
mended it
with love and
white string.
Only
two more days
to comfort it.
When we left for
America,
it stayed behind
on the couch.

FAKE MONEY By Sharlene, age 19


Wings fluttering in my hand,
their ink stains my fingers,
their whiteness blinds my eyes.
As I count the bills 
they rustle
through
my
fingers
then drift into my
plastic 
bag.

Safe

GOODBYE, CARE BEAR By Anna, age 9











Its black eyes 
shimmer and
lighten the
room.
A pink flower
fades
on its belly.
I leave it in
the box
my mom
gave me.
She said,
this box
is the
leaving
stuff.
I pulled off the lid.
At the bottom of the box,
a bottle of
cute hot
pink
nail
polish
glanced
at me.
The necklace wrapped
around its neck
shimmered. 
Too light
to come with us
to 
America.