Finalist

 

Untitled

 

To escape the depression

that leaks into our house from the news on the radio,

we skip down the path, enjoying the way sunlight

glazes the trees in mock-summer light.

I welcome the familiar roots and rocks under my feet.

As we turn the bend, I spy the sparkling water

I still don’t know how many times it will take before

I see this sight and do not gasp.

The way the light reflects into the pond,

the distorted trees, the depth—

they will enchant me always.

We step onto well-worm rocks. I breathe in clear air and lower myself.

Green moss rolls over the ground, creating emerald silk.

I spot the fallen tree leaning, its base upright,

and charcoal from fires of the past.

You grab a piece of the black wood

and draw a line down the white granite. I join you.

Your eyes skim the landscape.

Then, fixing them, you smile when you find the stretching bald rock.

Reading your mind, I scamper to where your gaze leads.

We each pick our utensil.

The charcoal is cold and damp; we smudge it on the rock.

We begin to form the P. Today the pond is ours.

We finish, stand back, and grin.

I poke my finger into the water, testing its non-existent warmth.

Then I plunge my hand into the iciness and wipe it clean on the moss.

My fingers are lifeless, but no longer stained.

We fantasize over someone seeing our work—

someone being touched by the letters,

someone powerful enough to make change, to end the madness.

I laugh, grab your hand, my sister, and look back.

Peace.

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Marley Witham, age 13

Arrowsic, Maine

Center for Teaching and Learning

Teacher: Nancie Atwell