For Chad Sweeney

The little mute girl was looking for her
Voice, in a drop of water.
Standing patiently, on the other side,
The dog grants the snow
A loaf of bread on his shoulders.
He said: The way is long,
But what you have,
Is this wave, snatched by the seagulls.
By the way, did you know that
A watermelon can heal in fifty ways?
The child was only listening,
Writing her own questions,
Clenching and opening one small hand.
You think I am speaking in riddles,
But the world only means itself.
There is nothing to throw away.
A proud voice later speaks:
I give to Chad a tulip
To thank him for teaching me
How to see.
To thank him for teaching me
How to build.

– Indiana Pehlivanova

From the anthology “Tell the World,” published by HarperCollins
Poem of the Month: December 2008

O Bulgaria Bulgaria
I have seen your women
Carrying livestock on their backs,
I have stuffed cotton into my ears
To silence the lamb’s last cry! 

O Bulgaria Bulgaria
O bitter rain clouds that fall on our roofless homes and wash
The dishes for us
          Are your gypsies still alive?
Your black-haired, pink-cheeked, never-understood gypsies?
Did little Demir and his drowned body
Ever come back to look for me?
For a warm jacket and boots
To wear in the freezing water?
O I miss him
Tell him that I miss him 

O Bulgaria
A lion jumping over the iron woods
Is coming in my night dreams
Asking me to stop being a child
Pressing my wrists tightly
Making me run barefooted
In the painting of a foreign artist 

O Bulgaria Bulgaria
A hundred-year-flower sprouted up
At the spot where my crown bled!
The River Danube is carrying
Leaves from the willow that
Many of my ancestors are buried under 

O thief of apricots
O hungry soldier
Who opened the door for you? 

Two hands can cause
1,000 years of war
But also sew a flag 

O piggy bank full of clothing pins
Instead of money 

O picture frame empty as the wine barrel
My uncle slept in all night long 

O Bulgaria Bulgaria
I was born into a world
Some may never understand
A world       not European	not Turkish
Not African
 	Where your mistakes
Are slapped on the hand 

But you cannot see who did it
A world where your rewards
Are measured in small golden
Certificates, each one saying I love you 

O Bulgaria Bulgaria		O my Bulgaria
Wipe off your face
Because I’m coming back!

– Indiana Pehlivanova

This poem is featured in the exhibition This Place Called Poetry.

My tongue is like a clown, because it doesn’t stop moving,
and it makes me enjoy myself.
My tongue is like nature because it’s so beautiful.

I’m like a scorpion because sometimes I like
to be alone in the mountains or over a tree.

My voice is like the sea because it can be soft,
but when I’m angry or when I sing it’s very hard and heavy.

My eyes are like a crystal ball
because I can see whatever I want in whatever place.

My fingers are like snakes
because they are so mad and they move so fast.

– Josue Henriquez

From the 2008 WritersCorps book “Mangos Have No Borders” at Mission High School
Poem of the Month: August 2008

Sound artist and musician Kjell Nordeson worked with Cindy Je’s WritersCorps workshops at Mission High School to create these Fruit Poetry Collages. Enjoy these sounds and words about fruit.

I am
the prisoner of my own mind
a poet waiting to be free
by words and paper
I am
the solid shield of a turtle
that no one can break with words
I am
the bird that sings
but no one understands me
I am
the orange that waits to be eaten
by a person who is patient
waiting until I am as sweet as honey.

– Christiam Morales

From the 2008 WritersCorps book “Mangos Have No Borders” at Mission High School
Poem of the Month: May 2008