Where I Live (2 page)

1. The sun is a star. (In summer I get a starburn.)

2. Real stars do not have five points. Real stars are shaped like balls.

3. There are about 100 sextillion stars in the known universe. (100,000,000,000,000,000,000,000)

4. Every day about 100 tons of stardust land on the earth.

5. The atoms that make up my body were once part of stars. (I'm a star!)

6. Stars shine steadily. They don't twinkle. (Don't tell Twink.)

Dad collects jokes
like some people
collect stamps.
Here's his latest:
“What kind of dog
loves to take a bath?”
Twink guesses
“A dirty dog?”
Mom grins.
I shake my head.
“No, Twink,” says Dad.
“A shampoodle!”

Twink
stands guard
at the front door.
I helped her make a sign.
It says:
BIRD NESTING―
BACK DOOR PLEASE!
She waves it at
the plumber
who comes to fix
the kitchen sink.
She waves it at
the lady
who delivers packages
in a brown truck.
She waves it at Rose.
She waves it at me.
BACK DOOR PLEASE!

Mom takes Rose
and me
to the hardware store
to spend Grandpa Joe's money.
We buy paint—
midnight blue—
and brushes
and a drop cloth.
We stop for donuts.
They'll give us energy
to work (ha ha).
Back home Mom hands Rose and me
a couple of Dad's
old shirts to wear.
Let the painting begin!

When Rose and I
take a break
from painting,
Twink
sneaks into
my room.
Slappity-slappity
paint on the wall.
Slappity-slippity
paint on the floor.
Slappity-sloppity
paint on Twink.

 

“Oh no!” I shriek
when I see her.
Rose giggles:
“It's a walking,
talking
blueberry!”

 

“Water-based paint,
I hope,” says Dad.

 

Mom marches Twink
down the hall.
“Into the bathtub,
young lady.”
Twink's tub water
turns blue ...
dark ...
dreamy ...
like a lake
after midnight.

 

Twink is always
making stuff like this
happen.
Accidentally.

I can hardly believe it—
I won!
I wrote a poem
for a school contest
about the sun
and
I won!
I won!
I twirl Twink around.
I sing: “I won! I won!”
I can't wait to tell
my parents I won.
They're home!
They get out of the car,
they're coming up the walk.
I grin,
I open my mouth—
Twink runs past me,
shouting, “Diana won!”

Sun,
you are like
yellow silk
cut in a circle
stitched against
the sky.
One thread dangles
in the breeze,
says, “Come
climb up into
my golden light.
Be happy.”

“It
doesn't
rhyme.”

“A poem
doesn't
have to rhyme.”
(Every
time.)

The wren's eggs
have hatched.
There are three
little birds.
Twink has named them:
Snap,
Crackle,
Pop.
After her favorite
cereal.