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.

You’ve done the same thing for me since the 3rd grade.
All 36 pairs of you I broke while I played.
Black as night and thick as molasses,
damn, I got some dorky ass lookin’ glasses.

Because of you, I’ve been called Poindexter and 4-eyes.
I think it is because my prescription is so high.
I have broken, snapped, and lost you to spies,
but I have never turned my back on you
and put contacts in my eyes.

You rest on my nose and hang on my ears.
When other people wear you
they say it looks like they just drank 87 beers.

Remember the time you broke and I fixed you with tape?
Ever since then I could never get a date!
Dork, Dweeb, Nerd, and Chump,
those are the names I heard
while I used my index finger to push you up.
I wipe you with my shirt almost every hour;
I even lather you with soap when I’m in the shower.

Remember the time when that stupid kid socked me
in the face and broke you in half?
And then in your honor I grabbed him by his neck
and put my foot in his ass
At night I take you off and put you by the bed.
If I walked in traffic without you, I’d be dead!

Ode to my glasses, you were always there,
but I think it’s time to get a new pair.

– Louie Bustos

From a WritersCorps publication at Downtown High School
Poem of the Month: December 2007

Thank you
for allowing me to see
clearly and without difficulty
You help to distinguish me from everyone else.
You give me something to
take care of, and keep clean,
as if I was caring for a child.
You bring out the beauty of
the mountains and trees.
You sharpen the color of the flowers
and sky, of the fire and water,
the pink cherry blossoms falling from the tree
at the corner of the block,
the red ketchup stain on my favorite white sweater
after eating dad’s homemade hot dogs,
the darkness invading the sky
during a thunderstorm,
the jade bracelet around my grandma’s wrist.
My glasses,
you wait for me every morning
when I wake up,
in the case next to my pillow,
always there when I need you.
Thank you.

– David Nguyen, 14

From a WritersCorps publication at Mission High School
Poem of the Month: November 2006