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  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Every day, under a school desk, I carefully kindle a fire in my hands. Piece by piece I rip the textured skin off, And the tart juice bathes my fingertips. The continents of Clementine peel Are lightly piled in the top right corner Of the surface. I savor the sweet ocean On the tinglin...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    For years I had thrown arrows with deliberate, feverish, haste. But to undeserving hearts did my arrows go to waste. Some of them get dipped in flat, some in satin, some are glossed... But when I find someone who's iridescent, The skies are not star-crossed. Grade Seven: Of course, I...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    Personal Narrative Story: Five I’m five years old; my slippery fingers are grasping for a struggling tadpole from the murky depths of our backyard pond. Missing- and then resurfacing with bits of algae and a few furry cattail seeds. The green slime from my hand drips onto my white Winnie the Po...

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