MY CHILDHOOD HANDS
My childhood hands
Picked the forget-me-not word
Future.
It crawled like a spider
Across my leg.
In the inky black expanse of sky
I placed stars
With the tips of my fingers
And words shone
Like galaxies
Taking me places far away.
Words like purse
And bottle
Make the corners
Of my favorite constellations.
As I grew
My hands worked on cursive
And a model of our human heart.
The words capillary
Blue, and oxygen
Got stuck with red paint
Beneath my fingernails.
My digging at the beach
Resulted in the discovery of thoughts
Which lodged themselves
In my socks
The whole way home.
I looked out the window
And saw mystery, treasure, and hillside
Written in the clouds.
I dreamed in turquoise once.
I woke with white fingers
And a shiver down my spine.
In a library--
The sea of words,
A tidal wave spit me back on shore
With a penny
And the yin of a yang
In the palm of my hand.
-Chelsea Ingram
Age 16, Lane County, Oregon
PARTNER POEM
IMAGINATION
There is a dish to hold the sea,
A brazier to contain the sun,
A compass for the galaxy,
A voice to wake the dead and done!
That minister of ministers,
Imagination, gathers up
The undiscovered Universe,
Like jewels in a jasper cup.
Its flame can mingle north and south;
Its accent with the thunder strive;
The ruddy sentence of its mouth
Can make the ancient dead alive.
The mart of power, the fount of will,
The form and mold of every star,
The source and bound of good and ill,
The key of all the things that are,
Imagination, new and strange
In every age, can turn the year;
Can shift the poles and lightly change
The mood of men, the world's career.
-John Davidson
ASK THE POEMS
1. How will you carry colors home?
2. Where else will you look for treasure?
3. What is your next wish?
4. What does Tomorrow take from you?
5. What will you do with Dance?
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