I watch them
pulling the terrified and thrilled hands
of pencils and pens
screaming across this new paper playground.
I watch them
sitting
holding breaths
struggling ink to tear
covering scribbled secrets
from other girls' eyes and lies
hoping that the poem
that they have finally caught on page
will not fly away again.
I watch them
popping their gum stories
quieting themselves
lips tight and pouted
eyes cut and rolled
like I have just asked them
to spit it out.
I watch them
searching for spellings
uncomfortable and betrayed
by minds that don't fill out
as quickly as bodies.
then ...
I watch them
letting imaginations
trip over themselves
to reach the bottoms of pages.
I watch them
relaxing fingers
unloosening the grip
of the pen's neck
then breathing
I watch them
talking sassed and fresh
to the bully poem
that they have
run from all their lives
I can hear mothers' voices
in their heads
giving them the choice
of either being beaten by the poem
or her.
I watch them
looking up concerned
from their curly q's
and heart-dotted i's
making sure that they
have not imagined themselves
too far away from home.
I watch them
with their now or later oiled papers
tell little girl herstories
where they are heroines
waiting to save themselves.
I watch them
cooties running through their minds
ants panted
freeing this moment
beautifully like caught star
collapsed into your hand
beautifully like wish and hope
on a shooting poem.
