Student Work

Literary Selections from Calliope 2006

Why I Didn't Do My Math Homework
by SL, '08

My dog ate it.
He swallowed it whole.
Poor pooch.                                                                                                 
He still hiccups division signs.

An Old Ritual
by SL, '09

The last time I
slid into home plate,
made The Diving Catch,
smashed a grand slam...
I will miss those sweaty summer days,
always dirty,
a drip of blood running off my knee.
I wore it proudly,
a warrior's scar.
The burn on my elbow was a trophy for my Third Out.
My soul was woven in my mitt;
my intentions were worn on my bat.
Each dent was a bragging right
of the many sacrifices and deaths
of a ball over a fence.

Ice Cream with My Cousin
by LC, '09

The smell of smoked steak and Cuban cigars
clouds my brain.
I paint this blank canvas out of summer nights,
sticky with ice cream.
I trace the cracks in the cobblestone path
with toes, sandy and free.
We sit on the stained glass bench.
You show love with a silent nine-year-old pinch.
Laughter swims in the harbor,
while a Bahama sunset kisses our cheeks.

Con Artist
by HG, '07

Your last word caught trembling:
I'm not convinced.
Tell me something I haven't heard yet.
So there you are, and here I stand.
Take back everything you said:
you never meant a word of it.
Don't explain,
I already know what you are going to say.
Forced to the wall,
you spill fiction when my back is turned.
I am at a loss for words.

Girls' Bathroom
by SH, '06

Engraved with meaning:
two names lassoed in an unbalanced heart,
created by stolen permanent marker.
A few weeks later - violently crossed out.
"Loves" is replaced with "is a..."
Paint is chipped and stained,
strong to make it through these painful years with us.
Stalls give the support we need,
to be kept private, to be secured, to be alone.
Graffiti, though, is always there to reassure us
that we're not alone.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall -
tell me.
Why me?
One girl,
one thousand imperfections.

Sun Rise
by CF, '09

I look for that warm smile
in my snowstorn mind,

the one that will reach out and hug
my tangled spirit.

I feel the snow melting away.
It is early spring in my heart.

by JL, '06

The irony
is thinking of all the trees I've killed
writing about them.

Which Way Does Your Heart Fold?
by DG, '09

Put trust in the driver;
believe that he will guide you.
Your heart is like a map,
the veins each like a different route
to a new place:
no need for directions
or a reason.
Website by SchoolMessenger Presence. © 2024 SchoolMessenger Corporation. All rights reserved.