“there are slow colors in space” / “I understood that he was a dolphin who left and came back, but then disappeared.”
“Every moment I’m with our young writers in their creative writing workshops, I remember what it means to be alive, what it means to play, to discover, to invent worlds with language,” says Jess Stoner, in her introduction to the poetry you are about to read. “Everything about what they write is nurtured by their willingness to engage in play, in discovery, in wonder, in the very real place of our imaginations.”
Mis ojos miran todo
Yo veo la luna y
también puedo ver el espacio
y las estrellas
y también veo caballos en el espacio
y también la luna
se hizo en color de azul
y hay personas en el espacio
y hay despacio colores en el espacio
y también esta el sol en el espacio
y hay animales en el espacio
y hay demasiadas estrellas de colores
y el espacio se hizo de demasiados colores.
My Eyes See Everything
I see the moon and
I can also see space
and the stars
and I also see horses in space
and also the moon
was made a blue color
and there are people in space
and there are slow colors in space
and there is also the sun in space
and there are animals in space
and there are too many colored stars
and space was made with too many colors.
—Eric from Winn Elementary
—Translated from Spanish by Jess Stoner.
After Federico Garcia Lorca’s “Rundown Church (Ballad of the First World War)”
I had a friend and his name was Brandon.
I had a friend.
He disappeared from my imagination one Thursday.
He was taking his stuff to the bus.
He said goodbye to me so sadly from behind the window. My friend! My friend! My friend!
I read his poem to remember him
and I understood that he was a dolphin
who left and came back, but then disappeared.
I had a rhinoceros.
I had a rhinoceros that protected me.
I had a rhinoceros from Jupiter. Jupiter!
I had a rhinoceros from Jupiter
who died in a battle.
I had a box that was my spaceship,
but it got ripped and lost its life.
If my box would only come back,
I wouldn’t rip it,
and I wouldn’t treat it badly.
If my box had only been alive!
I would take care of it
and put tape on it.
I know very well my box was a spaceship.
They will say I’m crazy, but I’m not.
My box! My box! My box!
—Freddy from Perez Elementary
Read more poetry by kids in this series: Where I’m From, The Stories We Tell, Future Dreams
—Photo credit: Trodel/Flickr
* This essay was featured onThe Good Men Project.
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