The Birds

woodchips kicked my running children
squirrels scampering up the trunk of an old pine
children neatly padding and smoothing their mud pastry
as if they are going to eat a chocolate mess
the touch of grainy earth goo on their small hands as
laughter erupts all around with their mud-painted faces
Me?
parents yelling like wild boars
perched in the dark closet as I imagine a warm sunny day with the sparrows cry and a beautiful blue jay chirping
it only makes tears run down my baby cheeks with muffled cries
early morning
ice cold with a touch of matte gray fog
my young mind finally at ease
take a deep breath
hear
The Birds.

--Jenessa R., 6th-8th Grade