I Am Poem
By:Zander Mehran, age 9


I am happy
I wonder how earth started because now one knows
I hear Mrs. Puljiz talking about animals which makes me think of how they lose there home
I see the yellow bee that crashed on the table
I want to be happy for the animals
I am happy
I pretended that there is a big tiger that lept on me
I feel the smooth floor that is hard
I touch the floor that feels hard
I worry about the animals because they might become extinct!
I cry about nothing because I was not sad
I am happy
I understand that the animals lose their homes when we build something
I say nothing because I feel bad for the animals that lose their homes when we build
I dream to have 100 dogs that will like me
I try to keep animals safe from destruction
I hope the animals are safe so that we are safe
I am happy

The End of the World

Around 8:30 PM she breathed a sigh of relief as in 90 minutes her head would hit the pillow and the illumination of the world would end.
Over the years she had tried a few things to help her sleep: milk, cookies, magnesium, men, books, and various sleep technicians. None of this had helped her yet now, during this time the world is ending, her sleep was the sound of a book closing.
A thick book.
Hours would pass and she would lie in the same position lost in another world, past or future.
Hip into moon crater.
Hair lost to crown of thorns.
Hands gnarled like the chicken’s feet next door who called in for morning to come.
The time was undivided like listening to the dial tone on a rotary phone.
Some knew the world was ending..
It was like knowing something so sad you couldn’t look it in the eye. Having a secret that no matter what you couldn’t tell.

There were fires and there was anger. People drove their cars into other peoples cars as if they were small children in an amusement park. Children were so enraged they screamed all afternoon in the park next to her house.
There was nothing she could do. There was always something she could do in the past but now even putting her sneakers on seemed futile.
There was no where to run to.

New viruses appeared along with nuclear weapons and food in the stores became nothing but signs saying you could have this product but not until five years had passed. Sometimes there is a 🙂 on the sign.

The children stopped growing. No one seemed to notice.
Cars were abandoned on rooftops.

I remember saying to a man that he was the love of my life and at the time I believed it.

Academy Awards

This year I find the Academy awards to be so moving that I am constantly in tears. As a matter of fact, I can’t believe I have the capacity to cry for so many hours. There’s so many things that people have said that have been so hopeful to me that I can’t believe and feel like there may be a good tomorrow. Thank God. God bless all of them.

Oh Russia

Oh Russia

 

 

Russia…

I hear symphonies and underlying notes of soulful

loss and pieces of Dostoyevsky and still she lumbers forward with

Tchaikovsky attending to the beat and refuses to look far ahead

at the leader who is stomping angrily in the snow looking

for the borderline knowing this earth belongs to him

and him only…

The world cries against him which enflames him

like men in backyards throwing kerosine at their

barbecues, exerting control over hot coals,

the tanks filled with children keep moving

and shooting and the people, they say they are

not running but the baby carriages filled with

spotted dogs, babies, canned tuna and handguns

progress to the western Ukraine border. We are all

onlookers: fearful, our mouths stuck shut with cello

tape, our wrists bound, our feet shoeless,

like those forced to watch the witches hang or

the Holocaust victims fall into the graves they

were forced to dig. Some say it will be stopped

but there are some who see the spread of evil

like an ink stain on a dark blotter and one country

seeps into another taking everything and everyone

with them.

 

 

Marla Ruzicka

Let’s talk about war. It’s so cold here that the moon withdrew itself last night. The fur on people’s dogs stopped  shedding for the day. I heard the word “honor” in connection with the memorial I saw from the second world war and I thought why is it honorable to be in a war or to create a war? Why is it considered honorable to be a hero when you kill people. Or why is it considered honorable to be a hero when you’re a leader and you decide to kill even more people? I am going to write this in the simplest way I possibly can. I don’t see any heroism in war. I think this concept should end But what really frightens me is that I think it’s a basic part of human nature. It seems to me it all boils down to the territorial imperative. Even if the  territorial imperative is 1 inch of space somewhere. I’m not a historian and ,in fact, I hated history because I hate precision in any form. I am an artist and a creative person so I don’t like squares, I like circles. I don’t like wars. I don’t like it when leaders stamp their foot and turn on their heel and walk away and send in their giant killing machines.

One of my heroes was a young woman who on her own counted the civilian victims of war in Afghanistan and Irac. Her name was Marla Ruzicka and Senator Patrick Leahy passed a bill in her honor stating that civilian victims of war would now be counted. Why in her honor? Because she was killed before she was 30 by a car bomb.

I had met her in New York one warm night at a friends reception for the Ploughshares Fund. Her blonde hair fell around her face in a kind of charmingly messy mop and she was wearing a tank top and some old pair of jeans and we spent 20 minutes talking about what she did. It was so inspiring to me and a few weeks later when I read on the front page of the Times that she had been killed my heart broke for her. I couldn’t stop crying. In my mind I kept seeing that wonderful, youthful face with her wide smile and a great soft glow about her. She was my hero and always will be.

It’s time for the world to wake up and realize who the real heroes are. It’s not the territorial imperative and the machines of war that are the brave things. It’s a single person who will dare stand up and make a point and risk their life doing so.

We Call

We Call

 

We call to each other in “fluent transparent animal.”*

I might be gone from the living and this is the

Bardo.

We call, all the souls here with me,

waiting to move on, wanting to move on.

Not wanting to move on.

I am not thinking about breathing for once.

The others here are transparent like the fish tank in Monterey.

I want to say I knew it would be like this

but my lips do not exist just as I forgot how sensitive

they used to be when still alive.

I seem to be in the middle level as high up I see a light

Like a military searchlight it shivers me.

There is no apparent order

No signage

No music or noise

The volume is turned off.

It’s very pleasant here and waiting isn’t wanting.

 

 

*a prompt from Diane’s writing class