|Details of my Poetry Month Project can be found here.|
I fell out of the sycamore tree
that stood in the alley
outside the back garden fence.
There was a birdhouse in the sycamore.
I wanted to get it down.
I had climbed up to check it out
and the rope that tied it was weathered into a
rock solid knot.
I got the silver bottle opener –
the one with the shiny sharp triangle
for poking and prying –
out of the kitchen gadget drawer.
I climbed the fence and then into the sycamore
with the bottle opener
clenched between my teeth.
I remember the surprise I felt
when the branch broke,
but I don’t remember falling
or hitting the fence on the way down.
I came to with the bottle opener
still between my
My right arm was a different matter.
I began 6th grade,
already awkward and buck-toothed
with a full cast on my right arm.
I’m right handed.
And on the first day of school,
cold as the polar ice caps,
made me pass out the Scholastic book orders.
I struggled with those tissue-paper fliers,
stared at and and snickered at
but stubbornly refusing to ask for help.
I can’t remember if I ever got the bird house
out of the tree,
but I’ll never forget how Mrs. Bonner
I couldn't bear to write about human destruction of the polar ice caps. Kevin came through. He wrote a passionate ode to the ice caps that includes a fierce warning to humankind. Powerful.
Carol's polar ice cap poem is just as powerful as Kevin's, but in a "take you by the shoulders and shake you" kind of way.