The small white sign in the distance grew bigger and bigger as I walked. When I got closer I could make out the small black letters that I knew so well. It read “Blueberry Hill.” That’s one of the things I loved about living here - all the old houses had names, including Grandma’s. When Mom and I moved here I was sad because our house didn’t have a name. Most kids’ favorite day of the year is Christmas, but not me. Every August fifteenth I go to Grandma’s house and we pick blueberries together. It used to be her, me and Grandpa, but he passed away a few year ago. When I got to the door to her house I knocked loudly. After a few seconds she opened the door. Her pepper hair was frazzled and I could see clumps of flour in her bangs. She smiled up at me and said, “Are you ready?”

“Yes!” I said, eager to begin.

Long delicate fingers dart across the black and white keys.
I like to watch,
The way they move seemingly effortlesly to carry out a melody.
There's an old man on the corner of our street.
I can always hear him playing the piano from an upstairs window,
So I sit on the sidewalk and listen.
Some of the neighbors don't like it,
They say his hands should be still for once,
But he doesn't stop.
He didn't stop.
Now when I go by his house it's empty.
I was the only one who stopped to listen,
who heard the long delicate fingers dart across the black and white keys.
I like to watch
To listen
When I hear the piano, I look towards his window.
But it's someone else.

 

                        I hate meaningless weather.
Frigid days, no snow.
Dark clouds, no rain.
Sunny moments, no heat.

                        I hate these empty promises, these white lies.
Like a raised middle finger from mother nature in the most glorious fashion. 
Nature's nasty tricks suck.
   
But,

                       I love emotional weather.
Passionate blizzards making one's vision whiter than a Starbucks on a lazy Sunday, clashing with a heartless cold that elicits the primordial id of our long departed ice age ancestors.  
Cloth drenching rain that prompts Gene Kelly to sing and dance from the grave with fierce claps of thunder, rivaled only by the broken-hearted cries of a wanting soul.
Days of brilliant sunshine that fills the far too often bleak landscape with loving warmth that brings forth memories of your lover’s soft kiss and tender touch.

the caged bird in my heart
is begging.
begging to sing
begging to be heard
over the many voices
churning the world
shaping it
shaping us.
at last
I have my chance
YWP
it helps me 
it helps us
everyone reading this.
YWP has the key
to unlock the cage
so that the golden
bird
that is my heart
can be free at last
soaring
above the plumes
of fluffy white clouds
its imagination 
flowing without 
cease. 
forever.
so I thank you
YWP
I thank you 
for the key

This poem does not articulate my opinions on this specific issue. It is from the perspective of a mother whose son was killed in a school shooting, talking to the mother of the shooter. It raises an important question: whose fault is it? 

Six Things I Loved About Thomas:
1. He was never afraid to be honest. Sometimes, I mean it was brutal.
Thomas do you like my dress? No mom you look fat. 
Well okay then. No dinner for you. Or me.
2. He liked to paint his nails.
When he turned five, he picked out my dark purple nail polish.
That didn’t surprise me- he was never afraid to be himself.
What did surprise me- when he came home with a girlfriend at 15.
Key word: girl. That didn’t last long.
He was out of the closet by 16.
In drag by 17.
3. He was never ashamed to have me as a mother.
I had him when I was just 16.
I was scared for myself
But mostly scared for him

On Thursday, Nov. 15, join YWP's Sophie, Hazel & Rajnii for a Special SoundCheck on Climate Change! Open Mic and Creators' Workshop. Write to these challenges or bring your own environmentally-themed words and art. Led by Sophie Dauerman and Hazel Civalier - YWP Community Leaders and CVU Environment Club leaders - with YWP's Artistic Director Rajnii Eddins. See you there! Nov. 15, 6-8 pm, Burlington City Arts, 135 Church Street, Burlington. Invite your friends! Free and open to all!