Poem for the Creative Child

Poem for the Creative Child

by Kathryn Haydon

Shimmering golden canopy

arching above

as you sail

back and forth

through the crisp autumn air

on your wooden airplane

strong arms stretched out

grasping tightly to rope

that transforms the old, discarded board

into magic,

lifting you up

above the world’s sorrow and sadness

turning your ear to the whispering leaves

that sing of innocence,

promise,

expectation.

the rope twists

and in a show

of childlike abandon

you whirl

with glee

enlacing life with strands of delight as

yellow shooting stars

loosened from the tree’s grasp

cascade to the carpet below.

I make a wish,

this moment

frozen in time,

you on your wooden swing

sailing,

wings stretched out

into forever.

Short Story by Sarah V.

As I am walking into his room, I see a different color for every wall. Blue, green, purple, and yellow blind me as the sun’s shining rays come through the open window. To my left there is a bed with a happy face backboard and white sheets. The sheets look like one you would find in an army; neat enough to bounce a quarter off them. There is nothing else on his light-colored soft-wood floors. I can not say as much as for those walls. Pictures of him around the world border the middle as if it were a train. Posters of bands, events, and maps are scattered randomly here and there, but there is a bare spot. A door covers this bare spot, and I walk to the right side of the room. As I turn the spotless handle, and once I open it, I find clothes inside. Every color clothes you can imagine neatly folded into tiny cubicles labeled with the correct article. His shoes are covered in mud, though, hard-packed mud that covers the inner walls of the cubicle as well.