I will send to my mother
A butterfly
Small and yellow
It is the first time
She will have received one

I will send to my sister
A long walk in the park
To distract her
From her problems

I will send to my boyfriend
A day on the sofa
To watch the TV
And drink juice

– Elsa Chavarria, 18
From the WritersCorps 2012 book “Half Belly, Half Heart” by students at Hilltop School

Poem of the Month: May 2012

I will send to my mother
a behaved daughter
that will always make her happy
so she doesn’t need to be mad anymore.

I will send to my stepfather
a money tree
that will always grow money
so he doesn’t need to work for anyone.

I will send to my two little sisters
a forever childhood
that will never end
so they don’t need to worry about anything.

– Elaine Pau, age 15
From the WritersCorps book “Paper Dreams” at International Studies Academy

Poem of the Month: December 2009

I will send to my mother
a behaved daughter
that will always make her happy
so she doesn’t need to be mad anymore.

I will send to my stepfather
a money tree
that will always grow money
so he doesn’t need to work for anyone.

I will send to my two little sisters
a forever childhood
that will never end
so they don’t need to worry about anything.

– Elaine Pau, age 15

From the WritersCorps book “Paper Dreams” at International Studies Academy
Poem of the Month: December 2009

My grandmother is the stars in the night sky
Shining brightly.
Directing its light to those who are in the dark.
She is the mountain that protects the valleys below
Even if there are rockslides once in a while.
She is a woman who is a thunderstorm when she is angry
And a nice summer day when she is happy.

– Nathalie Guillen, age 11

From the WritersCorps book “My Name is a Book of Lives” at the San Francsico Main Library
Poem of the Month: May 2009

Ya’ll know what I hate?
I hate when people look me in my face
And say, I know what you’re going through
When really
They don’t know what it’s like
To watch your mom take her works in the bathroom
And shoot up the dinner

Shh. Yo, ya’ll hear that?
Yo, that’s my mom’s mind slowly going crazy
As the dope races through her veins
Cracking open beer cans
Hearing shit that ain’t even there

Oh yeah, Pops? He was barely around
Hitting licks to support his habit
It seemed like
23-hour lockdown was his destiny

The pen became his home
No phone calls home just
Short letters of reassurance that he’d be back soon

Ya’ll know what I really hated?
I hated having to hear the lighters flick
Smelling the crack burning, the pipes
Seeing pieces of brillo pad laying on the floor, next to the broken wire hangers

I hated having to watch my sisters grind up on the block
Just to put food in our mouths
I hated having to wear the same panties for week or
None at all
Having to heat water on a stove to take a hot bath
Or wash our dirty clothes in the bathtub

Tell me.
How much would it hurt you to have to watch your mom hand you over to a stranger
So you wouldn’t have to sleep in the rain that night?
It’s like having your childhood ripped from your rib cage
Like swallowing pneumonia and your throat closes up

The funny thing is that those were the best times of our lives
Sleeping in vacant cars and
Still waking up the next day with a smile on our face
You see the material things never mattered to us
We just wanted to live until the next day

And you know what?
The judges can keep their scores
‘Cause the numbers can’t reflect what I’ve been though
Not even this piece can define me

What you don’t know is
Even with the pain of going to sleep some nights on an empty stomach
Mommy always made sure the dining room overflowed with Christmas gifts on Christmas morning

Even with pipe to lips
Beer to hand
Ear to wall
She always found time to be my mother
And teach me anything worth having was worth working for

So you see?
I don’t need pity
I just need you all to help me finish this piece ‘cause
The rest is still unwritten

– Antoinette Osborne

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