Where I Live (7 page)

Joelle is very,
very
shy.
She doesn't talk much.
She doesn't read
her poems aloud.
Mary Elmore DeMott
reads Joelle's poems
to us.
They are beautiful.
Joelle apologizes
for not being brave.
Mary Elmore DeMott says:
“You're wrong, Joelle.
You were very brave
to come this week.”

It's been a while since I've felt like I belong
somewhere.
The workshop is over.
We all say good-bye.
Mine is the hardest.
The others
live near one another,
but I'm six hours away.
They promise to keep in touch.
My heart feels like
an egg about to
crack.
I tell Mary Elmore DeMott.
She says: “Write that in
your notebook, Diana.”

When Mom and I go
back “home”
Twink is waiting
at the door.
She runs out
waving a sheet of paper—
probably for Mom.
So I'm totally surprised
when Twink
jumps up and down
in front of me
screaming:
“Diana, I wroted you
a poem! ”

You are my big sister.
I like you the bestest
of any big sister
in the whole world.
I missed you.
Love, Twink
PS: You said a poem doesn't have to rhyme.

I take my notebook outside
to the hot August day:
to Mr. Barr's dog, Tucker,
who likes to lick my knees ...
to Mrs. Martin's gazebo,
painted pink as
strawberry ice cream ...
to the tasseled weeds
in the lot near the old church ...
to the donut shop with the blue door ...
to the copper beech tree that's nearly
one hundred years old ...
I take out my pencil.
I open my notebook
and my heart.

1. He knows more about the night sky than anyone I've ever met.

2. He doesn't challenge me when I spell out the word
nebula
on the Scrabble board.

3. He listens to my poems.

4. He likes my poems.

5. He makes the best brownies.

1. He's a boy.

2. . He's a boy.

3. He's a boy.

4. He's a boy.

5. He's a boy.

1. So what?

2. So what?

3. So what?

4. So what?

5. So what?

Mom says:
“I like Sam.”
I say:
“So do I.”
Mom says:
“Sounds like there's
a problem.”
I say:
“There is.
Sam's a boy.”
Mom says:
“So what?”

Finally
I've got a new bike.
I forked over all
my savings, and Dad added the rest.
It's purple
to match
the purpy flopple.
Twink is monkey-faced.
“I was saving to buy you
a bike,” she grumps.
“Now you went and got one!
And it's not even your birthday!
You cheated!”
Twink is crying.
I feel rotten.
I think....
“Twink,” I say.
“You can buy me something—
a basket for my bike.
So I can carry my Scrabble
game to Sam's
and my poetry notebook
everywhere! ”
Twink cheers, “Yes!”
and runs to get
her frog bank.

This is where I live.
In the white stucco house.
With the window boxes
and the red geraniums
and the fireflies blinking
against the darkening sky.
I look out my window.
I see my friend Sam
waving.
“Wanna go to a star party?”
he calls.
The moon is soft,
shimmery.
The sky so full of stars,
I could shower in them.
My heart is happy.
It's a good life when
the sky is twinkling
and the moon is pale
and Sam and I have plans.