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I'll See Your Face Again
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Gina Sloman, 15
New York
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The memories are endless
the inside jokes—still funny.
The photos are irreplaceable
from when the sky was sunny.
The movie tickets in mint condition sit high up on the dresser.
Summer is a time when you feel no stress, no pressure.
The scraps of paper with funny drawings remind me of the past.
Summer 2007, you just went by too fast.
The fire pit we lit on Tiki Tuesdays no longer glows.
I could try to give you abundant details but you'll never really know.
The songs we loved to sing when we got into the car.
We'd drive around for hours, yet never get too far.
The water of the pool still shimmers like it did,
but it's missing just that something—that group of crazy kids.
The bunk talks and the color wars really got us pumped
and thinking that it's over, puts me way down in the dumps.
The receipts of restaurants we used to eat at with the total circled in red.
And watching movies at three in the morning until we went to bed.
The friendship bracelet with many colors tied around our wrists.
Staying up to see the sunrise and to feel the morning mist.
The things we said we'd always do, and never got them done.
No matter where we were, we managed to have fun.
Even at the sleepovers where we made each other cry,
we'd wake up hours later and not want to say goodbye.
The funny videos we took of us acting like we're four
still seem to be funny, yet slightly immature.
They say the best things must come to an end.
Don't worry, summer, I'll see your face again.
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August
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Gloria Maciorowski, 13
Missouri
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Finally! As she swirls gallantly,
beckoning to all
who sit in her path.
She cheers; blanketing sun on petals
of vibrant flowers.
As September saunters in
shaking and churning, as
the leaves
tumble
down.
The Tent
Jordana Edelstein, 16
New York
The wood planks
are old and gray.
The actual tent
is army green—
old, but
it is my protection
from wind and rain.
Towels sway
in the wind;
we use the ropes that
hold up the tent as
a clothesline.
Step inside:
One bed to the right—Marissa's.
The one at the back,
horizontal against
the back of the tent—
mine.
Cubbies line the rest of the tent.
Packed to their limits with clothes,
some never worn.
The beds are neatly made.
My bed has a blue comforter
and Marissa's is pink.
It's all gone,
now summer has
ended.
The wood is still
there, bare and empty.
The tent has been
taken down,
the beds and cubbies
stored away
for next year.
It's all gone now—
the summer.
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