Each month, we feature EIGHT new pieces of student writing on the TWENTY-SIXTH of the month. (Get it?) This month, we are are featuring writing from our partnership with Summer Drop-in Writing & Creative Writing Workshops.
*Summer Drop-in Writing & Workshops*
Amaya Melendez, Age 12
Letter to Kiwi
A Writeable Feast—Flavorful Food Writing
Remember the first time that we met, when my mom bought you in the grocery store? After that you were right in the center of the bowl. You were the best looking—no bumps—and you were the ripest kiwi. When I picked you up you felt soft, and when I started cutting you it felt so soft and juicy. You were as green and ripe as a tree that had been rained on for hours. I bit into you and at first you had this really good sour sort of taste like Sour Patch Kids. Then after that it was this really pure burst of sweetness that was as sweet as a soft ripened peach. Your taste was just like my favorite candy, Sour Patch Kids: sour, then sweet. The reason why I like you is because you are like candy, but healthy! My favorite reason why I like you so much is because you are a mix of sweet and sour and that is a taste that people could devour. Your brother was tasty too, and now you are both sliding down my throat and going into my stomach. I am so glad that I met you and ate you.
Madhav Sivadasan, Age 9
Poem About Broccoli
A Writeable Feast—Flavorful Food Writing
Bumpy like bark
Rubbery like an eraser
Optimistic that it will be delicious
Oblivious in my mouth
Like a toothbrush
Giliah Adler, Age 11
Monday Drop-in Writing
I was eating my pork chop when it tried to eat ME! Then it turned into a plate. At first, I didn’t really pay attention to what it had done until it bit me. What an evil plate! Then it turned into a screaming, angry sun. It rose into the sky and turned into a firework and sank down to our lawn and turned back into my dinner.
Rory Campbell, Age 11
The Corner in the Basement
Wednesday Drop-in Writing
A green bean bag chair with purple polka dots sat by itself in the far corner of the room. Next to it sat a bin bursting with balls of yarn. Some were yellow, big, blue, unstrung, small, purple, pink, tiny, fuzzy, and prickly. A pair of knitting needles lied in the bean bag.
Only two light bulbs hung from the ceiling. The chains swung. Big tall cabinets covered all four walls, the carpet was damp and worn, and the doorknob to the door locked by itself often.
Kate ran down the creaky wooden stairs, toward her little corner in the dark, cold basement. She plopped her backpack on the ground next to the door, as soon as she checked the doorknob one last time to make sure it didn’t lock on her.
Three minutes later, Kate started a new scarf, for just that day, her scarf had been blown away by the wind. Kate sighed to herself as her needles clacked together. Soon, her long orange needles were a blur; her clacks began to become less regular.
Music drifted down the stairs and filled the room. Kate hummed quietly to “Frosty the Snowman.” Her eyelids began to drop as the song dwindled to an end. Kate’s needles fell to the damp, worn carpet. The world went dark as Kate’s eyes finally shut.
Some point later her eyes popped open at the sound of the slight click of the doorknob.
She tried the door.
It was locked.
Ashish Venumuddula, Age 12
Wednesday Drop-in Writing
Faster than you can blink
Made of tiny electric links
It is hot to the touch
And is bright to see
But it can be used by anyone
And only has one purpose
To produce light
Hannah Zeigler, Age 8
Letter to Green Bean
A Writable Feast—Flavorful Food Writing
Dear Green Bean,
You look like a green octopus leg. You’re shortish-long. As green as grass. You have a vein like a leaf. You’re dryish-wet, skinny, smooth, like a leaf, you’re as light as a penny but strong, you smell watery. You taste crunchy, plain, bumpy, juicy, and you taste like celery. These are the sounds you make: crack, pop, scrape.
Meredith Fischer, Age 8
St. Thomas the Apostle Catholic School
Beyond Goosebumps: A New Take on the Scary Story
Long ago . . . An old, weak lady loved the water. In fact, whenever people saw her, her pruny body was in the water. People were starting to get mysterious and many rumors were said. She heard the rumors and disliked them. She was so upset, she decided to swim to another country. Halfway through her journey, she became tired. There would be almost two days until there would be a good place to rest. So she closed her eyes and sank . . .
She woke up after one hundred years. Weak, she swam to another, and when she got there, her secret was told . . .
How did this happen? Wasn’t loving the water a good thing? What was next for the lady?
The last time anyone ever saw the lady was when she knew her secret was told. The next day, everyone was searching for her. She wasn’t found.
Andreanna Ulery, Age 10
Wishing for S’more Summer: Camp 826michigan
It was a cool, misty morning in the forest. Rain was drizzling down and four cats gathered close. Their names were Sparrow, Pine, Blaze, and Fern. Sparrow was a tawny and white she-cat and had unnerving amber eyes. Pine was a brown tabby tom with dark emerald eyes. Blaze was a golden cat with a white belly and paws and ice blue eyes. Fern was a light silver and black tabby cat. She had delicate black paws and golden eyes. She was the youngest also. The wind picked up dramatically and the rain poured to a steady downpour. Fern snapped, “Let’s get on with this meeting instead of sitting in the rain!” Fern was a young cat but she could be very fierce. Blaze meowed, “Ok. I think Fern is right. Let’s get on with the meeting.” Fern purred, “Thank you Blaze.” Blaze nodded his head. The cats’ meeting started.
A couple days later . . .
It had been raining for a quite a while now and Sparrow was worried. She thought over and over again, I wonder is this is going to be a bad storm? On and On. That night, the wind picked up and whirled around, wailing like a piece of prey had been stolen. Blaze and Pine ran to where Fern lived, trying to find shelter. They saw Sparrow and Fern hunched down, their soft coats flattened. “Can we join?” Pine yowled. Sparrow meowed yes. They joined under the rock and saw they had a robin and squirrel under the rock with them. They gave the squirrel to Pine and Blaze and they chomped it hungrily down. Fern and Sparrow exchanged a few words but were quiet after Sparrow hissed. They all fell asleep and Pine dreamt . . .
He was in a dark surrounding. An unfamiliar tabby she-cat sat in front of him. “You may have fought before but now you need to stay alive. That’s what forest-cats do,” the strange cat whispered. Pine heard a crack and woke up. The forest cats were not all different. Now they were one. The Forest Cats.