Where I Live (6 page)

1. Playing Scrabble with Rose.

2. Reading diaries with Rose.

3. Reciting my poems to Rose.

4. Sleepovers at Rose's house.

5. Talking over my worries with Rose.

6. Trying to teach Rose about the sky.

7. Riding bikes with Rose.

8. Rose.

9. Rose.

10. Rose.

1. My old room.

2. Our maple tree. (Grandpa's pine doesn't turn colors in the fall and you can't climb it.)

3. Our kitchen. (I knew where everything was.)

4. The Rice Krispies family.

5. Waking up happy.

Dad got a job.
He's whooping.

 

Mom laughs.
Dances
around the kitchen
with Twink.

 

Grandpa Joe
opens a bottle
of sparkling grape juice
to celebrate.

 

I say:
“Does that mean
we can move back
home? ”

 

The room goes silent.

Of course
we can't
move back.
I know that.
Our yellow house
has been sold.
To a family
with three kids
and two dogs.
This is my home now.
I sigh.
I pour myself
a glass of milk.
I ask Mom:
“Any of those
brownies left?”

Who could be sending me a letter?
Grandpa used to write to me,
but now that I live here
we just talk.
Rose and I e-mail each other,
so it can't be from her.
“Maybe it's from
Mrs. Clifford,” says Mom.
“Maybe it's from
Snap, Crackle, and Pop!”
says Twink.

The letter is from
Mary Elmore DeMott,
the famous city poet.
It's about the poetry workshop.
She says I should bring
a thick notebook.
And pens.
And an idea
for a poetry project.
Grandpa Joe says:
“Maybe you can write
some poems
about moving.”

It's the morning
before the poetry workshop.
Mom is driving me
all the way there—
six hours from Pittsburgh.
I have my notebook
and pens.
I'm wearing
the purpy flopple.
I get itchy in the car.
Every mile I say:
“I'm nervous.”
“I'm thirsty.”
“I think I'm going to
throw up.”
“Are we there yet?”

 

It's like
I've turned into
Twink!

Mary Elmore DeMott—
short blond hair,
green eyes,
swooshy red dress,
ballerina slippers—
begins.
She tells us:
be brave,
be messy,
write what we feel,
tell the truth,
love who we are,
share,
keep a notebook,
take it everywhere,
open our eyes
and our hearts.

There are six of us
in the workshop.
Two boys.
Four girls.
Annie is the first
to share.
Her dad is
in the hospital.
Annie misses him
like crazy.
I know what it's like
to miss someone.
I read Annie my poem:
“Music,”
about Mom's teakettle.
I tell Annie about Rose.

David tells the truth
to his friends.
He tells them:
“I write poems.”
They tease him.
“But I love being
a poet,”
says David.
Mary Elmore DeMott smiles.
“You love who you are.”

Karen has a big family.
She says it's noisy
at her house.
Sometimes people argue,
play loud music.
Karen likes going
to the library,
writing her poems
in the quiet.
I think: We all need
quiet sometimes.
(Except for Twink.)

Andy is the silly one.
He grabs the purpy flopple,
puts it on his head,
dances down the aisle.
He reads his
Pickle-Panda poem
aloud.
We all laugh so hard,
we are crying.
Even Mary Elmore DeMott.