NINE THINGS ABOUT ME By Nam, age 8

Nine Things about Me

By Nam Nguyen

I was born in the 

Year of the Dog.

(Maybe this is why

I like to run.)

One time I went to the hospital,

and the doctors asked me three questions:

What flavored air do you want?

(Cherry.)

Does your bump feel itchy?

(No.)

Does your bump hurt?

(No.)

My parents met at a funeral.

(But the sadness

is not in me.)

HOW TO SAY GOODBYE By Misu, age 8

How to Say Goodbye

By Misu

I kick

pebbles 

and they fly

through the air.

Tear drops 

soak into the dirt.

The wind whistles, 

my hair

brushes

against my cheek,

leaves dangle,

apples fall,

flowers tickle

my palm.

The sun vanishes

into the clouds,

doves fly

above

my head,

roses surround

the coffin, 

flautists blow

into

their

instruments,

calming

the

blade

of my

family's

sadness,

memories

floating

around

my head.

When

will 

the 

silence

disappear?

MASQUERADE By Jack, Nhi, Tony, Misu, Tran & Alan

Masquerade

By Jack, Nhi, Tony, Misu, Tran & Alan

Sheep-shaped 

clouds

blossom

balloons

and

blanket

helicopters.

Sun rays 

burn my shoulder.

The moon glows 

in a San Francisco sky,

alone.

The city 

drowns

the stars

in light.

BECAUSE By the Kids in Room 2

Because 

By the Kids in Room 2

Clothes are for wearing.

Rubber bands are for hair.

Shoes are for feet.

Sharks are for scaring.

But I heard they are actually scared of humans.

They only eat people because they think they’re seals.

I only eat sharks

because 

they’re salty

and sweet.

THE BROKEN ONE By the Kids in Room 2

The Broken One

By the Kids in Room 2

A pigeon.

One wing bent 

the wrong way,

dragging across the concrete.

The other wing

flapping,

its neck feathers

shimmering.

The one with beady,

red

eyes

waddles over to the 

broken one

and

their beaks smooch

under

the bench.

TWO SCOOPS A DAY by Lily & Helen, both age 8

THE GARDEN GUARDIAN BY ANNA, NHI, LESLIE & JESSICA M., AGES 9-10

WILD By Wisdom Li, age 10

MORNING by Jessica Chen, age 10

Morning

By Jessica Chen

Sun rays

angling

through my window

striping

my walls

golden.

I trudge

to the

bathroom.

Water

drips

from my

tap,

plopping

onto

the sink,

slipping

down the

drain.

ON POINT By Tran, age 10

On Point

Tando

plié

trampoline jumps

sashay

polka

Stomach,

Flat as a pancake

Legs,

Stiff as boards

Relevé

one foot,
two heels,

a pear,

upside-down.

WHERE LOVE HAS EXPIRED By Helen, age 8 & Lily, age 9

Where Love Has Expired

By Lily Nguyen & Helen Luu

Let’s build peace.

It looks like when

pages of a book

flip.

The words blur,

my inky finger

rubs

one sentence

at a time

and now

the paragraphs

are ruined.

Filthy.

Or maybe

the smudge

is a

cloud

What Is Missing by the Kids in Room 2

What Is Missing

The "No Kids Allowed" sign,

the eight ball,

light from a lamp,

a ticking clock,

a meteorite.

The boy's shadow,

his smile,

his glasses

because he stepped on them,

his body,

the pool cue,

probably a bar,

a glass of Tsing Tao

an altar to a great-great-great,

the other shoe,

a few arms,

the line

in a rainbow

where red meets orange,

noise

AFTER BREAKFAST... By Anvivi Vong, age 10

THE LADY OF THE SHADOWS By Jessica C. & Tran, both age 10