maelynslavik

Charcoal 

is our preferred method 

with which to sketch our days 

thick, dark swaths of pigment 

that smear and make their mark 

unapologetically 

This poem by Popcorn, 14, of Vermont, was written in response to the writing challenge, We

I saw a photo

Of you when you still had hair

Brown, nothing

Special, that hair was.

I forgot what you looked like

With hair that didn’t come off when you traded it

For a hat.

art is love and love pushes through.

A group of girls

in a circle in the shade

talk quietly in the world

their voices rising and falling

a stream of consciousness

pulling from their minds

memories of the day before.

A whistle

a ball