In the pantry shakes the last pennies from her peanut butter jar
In our thoughts
The sweet silence echoes
Pantries full of thoughts: like a container
Shakes a few out every now and then
The majority are still left and the
Last ones still want to leave
Pennies won’t keep them
From knocking on the door
Her mind wants to let them loose and
Peanut-butter won’t soothe her.
Jars won’t hold her thoughts anymore.
Chandler F., 8th
grade
In this town
The dust is lighted by the sun, women shuffle to their
Pantry, getting stale food while long hair runs down their backs. She
Shakes the orange juice, maybe it’s lemonade, trying to drink to
The summer in
Last of the RVs rolling into town on their way to something better, the people drop
Pennies while they talk and laugh, she picks them up
From under the dust,
Her ripped black jeans smelling of
Peanut-butter from the day before, she keeps the coin for her
Jar.
Zoe F., 8th grade
She saw what she saw because of what happened
Beyond that wounded wall of love she looked
with the wallowing wind of a friend forever lost and
that river that rummaged through the darkest desires to pursue that piercing call
She too sought the sizzling secrets, ready to succumb
to the invasive change that festered in her world
He had always been a supportive shadow of intensified respect
with a stare into those brewing blue eyes of good sense, she knew he had her back,
dressed and ready for every and all occasions that were to come
She saw that open window, allowing the entrance of that wallowing wind of a friend forever lost, and she said goodbye
Sylvia W., 8th
grade
Squandered Wishes
In the deathly silence,
The daughter’s face a moist silhouette of shadows, silent, remembering their blue
Pantry, full of power bars and peanut butter and soup;
Shakes her slumped head, straightens her back, crashes back into brutal truth
The panty is empty now, along with the gentle blue house; their
Last and remaining testament to a home; she thinks of the cold yet magical feeling of
Pennies; dropped eagerly into the placid waters of a wishing fountain
From her own small hand; lowers her head into her head, lamenting, smiles poignantly at
Her squandered wish she earned with the innocent drop of a coin, broods over whether,
Had she stolen a blissful moment to meditate, whether this day it would be
Peanut butter once again, along with milk and bread and jelly, but as she rises with steely Acquiescence, she feels a splitting pain deep down, around where her heart used to be, Knows without a doubt that today,
Jars hold other things than jam
Ingrid A., 8th
grade
In the ocean-crested sky, there’s always room for one more
cloud
The leaves of the birch tree are like thin, green plates in
the
Pantry. The wind
Shakes
The leaves and they flap like wind chimes, but not a sound
rings. The
Last opaque cloud sweeps across the sky, with ribbons of white
Pennies that trail
From
Her cobalt tresses. White
Peanut-butter smears the evening sky. The butter knife pulls more from the
Jar and waits for morning to come and lick the white off the skin of the sky.
Xanthe D., 8th grade
I will never be disappointed of any form of weather
I will never be ungrateful for food and shelter
I will never forget the sunsets I’ve seen
I will never brush a branch out of my path, for obstacles are what makes life an exciting, laughable journey.
Xanthe D., 8th grade
The Ghosts of Memories
In memories lie ghosts, personalities long gone,
the days have flown for miles. The mind is like a
pantry, holding the food of the soul, bended to milk-
shakes, powering the spirit.
The people in the daydreams are fleeting, will not
last past
pennies found in the streets, cold
from being forgotten. The windstorm of the mind is fierce,
her whistling howls and screams stick in my thoughts like
peanut butter to the roof of my mouth. If I kept my memories in a
jar and simply looked at them, it would starve my soul.
Emma B. 8th
grade
Because of the sky we have endless possibilities
We have dreams beyond what we can see
We have winds of chance which bring new beginnings
Because of the ocean we have rivers which glisten with pride
We have old secrets lying in the shadows of the unknown
We have changing tides, chances to redeem our endless
mistakes.
Because of the sun we have shadows which befriend our every
move
Golden desires and profound differences are free to enter
unshaped minds
No smile dressed in distress no fear dressed in belonging
Open your eyes and see what I see,
see the
world as it is given to you on a silver plate of chance
Amanda
S.
If I were a color I would be green
The color of life and of new beginnings and old stories
If I were a food I would be a black berry
Staining those who were not careful, leaving an everlasting
impression
If I were a bird I would be a swan
Something you can’t judge by the start, something with
potential
If I were a planet I would be a moon
Balancing the sun, putting to sleep the tired, a friend to all humanity
If I were a musical instrument I would be a flute
Something that is complicated to learn, but a rare sound
singing sweet beauty
If I were a body of water I would be the
Flowing peacefully, yet foreboding those who cross who have
already been to far
If I were a land mass I’d be
Taking in those who dare the extremities, who are ready for
adventure
If I were an animal I’d be a giraffe
My feet planted firmly on the ground, yet seeing about the
tree tops and into the stars
getting the best of both worlds, unique
If I were a type of weather I’d be wind
Powerful yet refreshing, taking out what doesn’t belong
If I were a shoe I’d be a pair of boots
Keeping cold toes warm, reminding iced feet of the hopes of
summer
Amanda S.