Look
An unseen hand painstakingly covers the bare trees with white snow. It doesn’t leave a square inch of land untouched, filling the brown earth with clean white. The snow forms a blanket, worn like a...
Issue: <span>November/December 2011</span>
View:
An unseen hand painstakingly covers the bare trees with white snow. It doesn’t leave a square inch of land untouched, filling the brown earth with clean white. The snow forms a blanket, worn like a comfortable sweater by every tree and every foot of ground. Slowly the hand encases each pine needle with clear ice, adds a slick layer of black ice to every driveway.
“Go back to Asia!”
He says and sneers and snarls.
He lacks imagination.
He is so predictable.
Sometimes he spreads his pain and says,
“Go back to Egypt!”
“Go back to Mexico!”
“Go back to Africa!”
He must be a travel agent
Waiting to book a flight.
Maybe he’s right.
Maybe we should all go back
And thank the Native Americans
For their hospitality,
For their generosity.
This story takes place in 1976, in South Africa. At this time in its history, the country was in the middle of apartheid, a governmental policy that discriminated against non-whites and gave authorities nearly unlimited power to arrest and kill civilians. By 1976, students in the Soweto township were staging protests and uprisings, and a secret guerilla army called the MKs had formed.
Forge, by Laurie Halse Anderson;
Atheneum: New York, 2010; $16.99
Picture this: you are ordered to build a shelter in the icy, cold snow wearing an old, worn shirt and torn pants. You haven’t eaten since yesterday, and even that was just flour and water. Occasionally, you have water flavored with your friend’s old shoe, which you call soup.
It was a funny, sunny afternoon when
Something hit my cheek
A cloud of a loud boom
Came from above
Then dark splattered all over the park
Like black paint hitting white paper
I ran as fast as I could,
slipping on raindrops
Jess sat dejectedly on the playground swing. She kicked the sand around her feet as if personally punishing it for her lack of friends. It wasn’t fair that she should have to sit here on this swing, lonely and bored, while the other kids had a great time.
I finger the valves.
They are cold and uninviting to the touch.
I take a breath.
My lips form an embouchure.
I blow.
At first there is noise,
Much noise,
Then the music starts.
It flows through my veins,
Coursing through my body.
I play from the heart.
I love it,
No,
Need it.
Music is me,
I am the music.
I need it,
I want it,
I can’t get enough,
I play until my heart swells
And my body sways.
Sherry had not returned to her home country in years. In a way, it was no longer her home country. What had been home is now the past. Father was the one who had insisted on the trip. She had been indifferent at first, but her father had persisted. China had changed; no longer a third-world country, it was now a Mecca of wealth.
PART I: A NEW MISSION
Dallas took his last breath of fresh air and put on his helmet. It was as hot as an oven in his space suit. In about thirty seconds he was sodden with sweat; nevertheless, Dallas and Cam took a spirited step into the elevator.
“Say your goodbyes to the ground,” said Dallas. “You won’t be seeing it for a while.
Adriane slowly opened her bedroom door, glancing down the hallway to make sure no one was awake. Once she was positive, she slipped through the small opening and closed the door. She hurried down the stairs and past the kitchen, wincing at her heavy footsteps, hoping no one would hear. As she reached the back door she slowed, looking for the key her mom kept on the counter.