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It is a Sunday night, raining, and I am eating oatmeal
There is a language to be learned, a list to dominate

And I can't hear what's being said upstairs, but I can
Make out my mother's butterscotch laughter, my
Father's heavy-lidded footsteps, the sound of the
Icemaker and the rain. These are the things that

Make a childhood. Yet there is a butterfly effect to
This life. A waltz that you can't see, but you feel the
Big band strike up the music in your blood. Why
Are people always leaving? Spun round and round

In overlapping rotations. If only in this world
That is mostly linoleum and revolving doors
Things could be as familiar as my childhood staircase
As familiar as rainy Sunday nights and oatmeal

This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.




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Lexie96 said...
Oct. 27, 2011 at 6:57 pm:
I like the simplicity of it because it is also mixed with a certain depth which makes it very interesting to read. Great work, check mine out sometime? Please?
 
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snaomi This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Aug. 20, 2011 at 9:11 pm:
I like the way each line moves into the next so effortlessly - the way it ends without punctuation helps propel it forward and makes me think about it after I'm finished reading the actual words.  Nice :)
 
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jessb said...
Aug. 19, 2011 at 3:22 pm:
Great imagery and structure! This poem successfully explores the significance of a simple moment.
 
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miracle_of_hope said...
Aug. 18, 2011 at 8:01 pm:
ha this is cool.
 
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