One Blue Marble
One Blue Marble Selected Works from the COMPAS Creative Classroom Program Edited by Amanda Hestwood Cover Art by Joselyn Lee Interior Art by Dajanae King Please be advised that this book features a diverse collection of student writing from young authors ages 5 to 18. As such, some pieces may include mature themes or language that may not be suitable for all age groups. COMPAS Teaching Artists support students in expressing their authentic voices and do not influence or censor the subject matter. All writing reflects the students’ own ideas, experiences, and creativity. COMPAS Creative Classroom Program 2024–25
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Publication of this book is generously supported by the Lillian Wright and C. Emil Berglund Foundation. This activity is made possible by the voters of Minnesota through a Minnesota State Arts Board Operating Support grant, thanks to a legislative appropriation from the arts and cultural heritage fund. Additional support has been provided by many generous individuals, corporations, and foundations. As always we are grateful for the hundreds of excellent teachers and administrators throughout Minnesota who sponsor COMPAS Creative Classroom activities. Without their support and hard work, the writers and artists would not be able to inspire the students we celebrate in this book. The title for this anthology, One Blue Marble is taken from Isabel Pollock’s piece, “The World is Burning” on page 36. © 2025 COMPAS ISBN 978-0-927663-85-4 Book production: Amanda Hestwood, Brittany Keefe, Emrys Yang, Briana Beeman, and COMPAS staff. Book layout: Brittany Keefe Interior artwork: Dajanae King; Cover artwork: Joselyn Lee Music, additional words, and arrangements © 2025 by Charlie Maguire and Mello-Jamin Music All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations used in critical articles and reviews. COMPAS | COMPAS.org 450 Syndicate Street North, Suite 325, Saint Paul, MN 55104 Print production: Smartpress, 950 Lake Dr., Chanhassen, MN
Dedication for the 46th Edition of the COMPAS Anthology of Student Writing For almost as long as COMPAS has been publishing this anthology of student writing, the Patrick and Aimee Butler Family Foundation has been investing in COMPAS and the young authors whose words grace these pages. The Foundation is a champion for arts education and recognizes the life-long benefits students receive from working with professional teaching artists. Through their generosity, hundreds of thousands of students have been inspired by participatory, arts education experiences right in their own classrooms and afterschool programs. It is with deep gratitude that we recognize their commitment to students, the arts, and to COMPAS. Thank you! In Memoriam Jim Rustad has been a part of the COMPAS family for many decades, serving as a board member, donor, advisor, and, above all, a champion of arts access for all. One of his favorite Saturdays of the year was the annual release party for the Anthology of Student Writing. He’d find a seat in the back and follow along as the new authors shared their writings, soaking in their voices. He said it gave him hope for the future when he heard the creativity and talent in these pages. Together with his partner, Kay Thomas, he enriched the lives of thousands of Minnesota students by opening doors to creativity, learning, and growth through the arts. His presence will be deeply missed, and his impact will be long remembered. v
Dear Authors, Congratulations on having your work included in this year’s COMPAS Anthology of Student Writing, One Blue Marble. What a powerful achievement. This moment marks a creative milestone, one built on courage, care, and trust in your own voice. Now, that voice lives on permanently. In a world that often rushes past complexity, your writing invites us to slow down and take notice. Your written piece is an act of care, of imagination, and of clarity in a noisy world. You remind us that young people have something essential to say, and that the world needs to listen. This anthology is not just a book. It is a chorus of Minnesota voices, each one offering a glimpse into how young writers like you are making meaning in uncertain times. It’s honest, bold, and full of spirit. We are proud to share your work with readers near and far. We encourage you to keep writing. Stay curious. You will be shaping truth into language, and language into something that moves people. You are already doing the work that matters most. Congratulations on becoming a published author. With deep admiration,
Dawne Brown White, Executive Director, COMPAS
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Table of Contents Introduction | xii
Poems for a World at Rest Holding Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Nandi Mawusi | 2 Bring. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Emiliana Montoya | 2 Oh, Wonderful Peace . . . . . . . . . . . . Zoe Bulman | 3 Peace Is. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Irving Neu-Ryan | 3 Take Me. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Aviva Shapiro | 4 Hold On to Peace. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Max Ingber | 5 This is Peace. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Layne Breckenridge | 5 I am Peace. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Raylan Pakenham | 6 Peace Pie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Finn Oesterreich | 6 Hold On, It Goes Fast . . . . . . . . . . Lazar Williams | 7 Maine. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Emma Bollinger Danielson | 8 Canoeing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Beckett Bemis | 9 My Room. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Luca Koch | 10 Be the Change. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mrs. Gupton’s Class | 11 Shine Like a Superhero . . . . . . . . . . Mr. Seipel’s Class | 12 We’re All the Same. . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mikelle Elfert | 13 Kindness. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Eischens et. al. Classes | 14 The Fields Have It All . . . . . . . . . . . .Preston Hallie | 16 Seashore. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . C. S. | 18 Peace. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Rowan Kemnitz | 19 Sunshine. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Westlie et. al. Classes | 20 Sun on the Horizon . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Bigaouette et. al. Classes | 21
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Notes from the In-Between June in July. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Edie Hanna | 24 Red and Blue Lights. . . . . . . . . . . . . N. R. | 25 A Tribute to Aunthood. . . . . . . . . . . Delaynna Mortvedt | 26 Why Do We? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Logan Yang | 28 Homeless . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Jackson Salinas | 30 My Hair. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Giselle Thomas | 31 Different. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Thessayla Bay | 32 Just Because. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Duke Hoover | 34 The World is Burning . . . . . . . . . . . .Isabel Pollock | 36 Item of Society . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Lyla Drayna | 38 America. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Harper Perez | 40 Lost Within . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Nora Sannes-Eckhoff | 42 Summer Camp Champ. . . . . . . . . . . Mylana Hallaway | 44 The Eldest Daughter . . . . . . . . . . . . .Ariel Lee | 46 Where I’m From . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .F. A. | 48 Greedy Understanding. . . . . . . . . . . Annika Nygaard | 51 Live Life. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Matilda Flynn | 52 A Poem About Love . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sloane Cobenais | 54 Our Dreams . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Maesen Kirchgessner | 57 Welcome to Womanhood . . . . . . . . . Mia Silva | 58 Morning We Never Want. . . . . . . . . B. K. | 61 Steps . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Lydia Coburn | 62 Who Are You?. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . B. R. | 64 Raise the Roof. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Roe et. al. Classes | 65 Personal Percussion . . . . . . . . . . . . . Landon Turner | 66 Me . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .B. W. | 68 May 16th . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Max Severson | 69 Free. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . B Ferris | 70 viii
Remember Kindergarten? . . . . . . . .Mae Musty | 72 Mass of Me. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Zoe Struyk | 74 Coming From Where I’m From.. . . A. B. | 78
Tears that Taught Me Needs and Wants . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Mr. Terrones’s Class | 82 Facts and Opinions . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Ms. Austin’s Class | 83 About the Planets . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mr. Crosby’s Class | 84 Stranger Danger/Trusted Friends. . Ms. Lime’s Class | 86 Tulip. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Addie Kannapiran | 87 The Problem . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Addy Lussier | 88 Brain Surgery . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . L. H. | 90 Take a Walk in My Shoes . . . . . . . . .Mr. Kyrin’s Class | 92 Positive and Negative. . . . . . . . . . . . P. J. | 93 A Story About a Great Storyteller. . .A. Q. | 94 The Feeling of the Ocean Waves. . . J. H. | 96 Life. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Leah Erickson | 97 Four Days. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Annileigh Nelson | 98 The Untold Burden . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Saanvi Magavi | 100 Wonder. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .N .Y. | 102 Drip, Drip, Drip. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .I. S. | 104 My Family Situation . . . . . . . . . . . . .J. F. | 106 Jealousy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Grace Swartz | 107 Tissues Don’t Solve Issues . . . . . . . . Haddie Moore | 108 October 22, 1989. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Maizie Hughes | 110 The First Time I Met My Grandpa.Parker Lundeen | 113 Feelings. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Josie Jones | 114 Anxiety Was My First Gift . . . . . . . .Maydi Loftus | 116 ix
Unfiltered Me Chose Silence. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sasha Lipset | 120 What Is It Like? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Rihanna Levy | 122 Them Over There. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Zayna Thabit | 126 1.4º Celsius . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Maisy Mau | 128 Chasing the Sun. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Brock Hortenbach-Devine | 131 Enough . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Gaby Azocar Manske | 132 The Hill Called Doubt. . . . . . . . . . . .Z. S. | 135 Normal Ideas. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Robin Quirk | 136 Spoken Worry. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Solveig Wilson | 138 In My World I See . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sven Cabanero | 141 All Are Human . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Isra Abdi | 142 A Cycle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Mary Jane Hanks | 144 Migration . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .B. A. R. | 146 Racing Toward Change . . . . . . . . . . Lisa Ruiz | 148 Untitled. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Ace Abron | 150 Genome Gambit . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Grand Dunham | 152 What Is It Like to Be Native? . . . . . Barbie Desjarlais | 154 Not Your Paradise . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Alondra Diaz | 156 The Rainbow We Follow . . . . . . . . . Millie Whitcraft Knox | 158 Changes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Giselle Rios | 160 Look at Her Eyes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Vannyva Kem | 162 Second Chance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Thea Berg | 164 Peace on Earth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Eleanor Tietjen | 166 America. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Hazel Grossman | 168
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Dreams with No Expiration Kendall and the Three Wizards. . . .Kendall Reese | 172 Wings of Swift and Flames. . . . . . . .Yael Muchtar | 174 Today I Am a Cloud . . . . . . . . . . . . . Shay Leonard | 176 Today I Am a Plant . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Leonard Johnson | 176 Today I Am a Butterfly. . . . . . . . . . . Aditri Mukherji | 177 The Night Is a Soft Wool Blanket. Raaga Ram | 178 The Night Is a Beautiful River. . . . .Sadie Stuurmans | 178 How It Feels to Write a Poem . . . . . H. T. | 179 A Year’s Turning . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Harlyn Mack | 180 I See a Doughnut . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Seraphine Courtney | 182 Story Block . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sylvia Turk-Themes | 184 Ode to Cartoons . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Jarrett Hammer | 186 Art Is What You Are . . . . . . . . . . . . .Ryker Skogerbo | 187 The Grammar Police . . . . . . . . . . . . S. M. | 188 Drawing. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Julez Noel | 190 Creativity Is a Power . . . . . . . . . . . . Matteo Walter | 192 A Poem About Nothing. . . . . . . . . . . Caitlyn Winkler | 194 The Wise One . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Anita Depuydt | 196 Universe Awake . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Ms. Frischmon et. al. | 199 2024–2025 Index by Student Writer | 201 2024–2025 Index by School | 204 COMPAS Anthology Teaching Artists 2024–25 | 207 COMPAS Mission and Programs | 208 COMPAS Staff 2024–2025 | 210 COMPAS Board of Directors 2024–2025 | 210 2025 Anthology Editor | 211 The Lillian Wright Awards for Creative Writing | 212
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Introduction Welcome to the 2024–2025 COMPAS Anthology of Student Writing, One Blue Marble, and the student writers who make up this rich tapestry of voices. From early elementary wonder to the wisdom of senior year, students across the K–12 journey share their dreams, their truths, and their questions about the world in which they live. Some entries will touch you with their charm; others may make you think. All of them are honest. These young writers explore the joys and pains of expectation, the beauty of the natural world, while also the serious realities of identity, hardship and finding hope. They reflect on peace, as an ideal as well as a state of mind, something to be nurtured in everyday, ordinary life. These emerging artists speak candidly about family, growing pains and the challenges that no child should face, but often do. Their words are often raw, real and a testament to the human condition—spoken with wisdom beyond their years. What emerges is a portrait of a generation that is thoughtful, reflective, resilient and unafraid to say what is on their mind. They are, all at once, learning who they are, and how to navigate the world around them. Whether reflecting on the events before their birth or wondering about the world they will leave behind them, each voice is powerful, and essential. I invite you to read with an open heart and mind. Let these stories and poems move you, challenge you and inspire you. Because in their words, you will not only be reminded of the past and glimpse the future—but bear witness to the present, in all its complexity and beauty. —Amanda Hestwood, Editor
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Section 1:
Poems for a World at Rest
Poems for a World at Rest | 1
Holding Peace Bring me your anger and sadness that keeps you from trying. Bring me any hate that lies in your soul’s shadow. Hold on to the happiness and peace that loves your laughter. Hold on to the dreams that make you smile— like a singer. Bring me your fears that say you can’t hold on to the memories that keep you warm in the winter. Bring me the coldness that lies in your heart.
Nandi Mawusi Meadowbrook Elementary, Golden Valley | Grade 4 Poetry Residency Teaching Artist: Marie Olofsdotter
Bring Bring me peace Oh my, I love peace It is so calm, so peaceful On the Day of the Dead It brings me peace When God is in the sky, It is so calm when God is up there.
Emiliana Montoya Meadowbrook Elementary, Golden Valley | Grade 4 Poetry Residency Teaching Artist: Marie Olofsdotter
2 | Poems for a World at Rest
Oh, Wonderful Peace Oh Peace, You feel like the fresh green grass in the field, growing the sadness away. You sound like a cat purring and jumping in its dreams. Oh Peace, You smell like the delicious cookies baking in the oven of love. You hide, in our thoughts, helping us learn and grow. Oh Peace, You teach us how to talk, feel, and have fun. You burrow like a rabbit in our hearts. Oh Peace, You are like a boomerang— always coming back when we lose you.
Zoe Bulman Meadowbrook Elementary, Golden Valley | Grade 4 Poetry Residency Teaching Artist: Marie Olofsdotter
Peace Is Peace is a turtle gliding though the water Peace is a shark sleeping through the day Peace is the sun full of brightness Peace is a wall holding everything together Peace is a beaver building its environment Peace is fragile so don’t let it go
Irving Neu-Ryan Meadowbrook Elementary, Golden Valley | Grade 4 Poetry Residency Teaching Artist: Marie Olofsdotter Poems for a World at Rest | 3
Take Me Take me, Peace, into your arms, like a mother cradling a baby. Bring me to my mistakes, so that I may mend them with needle and thread. Let me hold on while you dance, like a leaf through the forest. Let me hold your hand as you sit in a silent meadow, silent, but crawling with life. Let me ride you like a white horse, jumping into the heavens. Peace, don’t let them throw you in the river as if you are worth nothing more than rocks and tar. Peace, take me, so that I may light a flame of joy in every person we meet. Peace, rest, so I may do your bidding. Take me, Peace, so I can be Peace.
Aviva Shapiro Meadowbrook Elementary, Golden Valley | Grade 4 Poetry Residency Teaching Artist: Marie Olofsdotter
4 | Poems for a World at Rest
Hold On to Peace Peace, bring me to a crystal clear pond. Peace, bring me to a tulip in the green grass. Peace, bring me to an oak tree sitting as still as a rock. Peace, bring me to the depths of my dreams. Peace, bring me to a lake to fish out love. Hold on to peace because you will be lonely without it.
Max Ingber Meadowbrook Elementary, Golden Valley | Grade 4 Poetry Residency Teaching Artist: Marie Olofsdotter
This is Peace Peace is an oak tree standing tall and proud Peace is spring, all the colors emerge from hiding Peace is a willow singing its spring song Peace is the morning with its beautiful sunrise Peace is a star shining brightly in the early morning sky. Layne Breckenridge Meadowbrook Elementary, Golden Valley | Grade 4 Poetry Residency Teaching Artist: Marie Olofsdotter Poems for a World at Rest | 5
I am Peace I am as free as a black beetle crawling through the thickest of thoughts I am the forest of light that never stops growing I am the pen of happiness that never runs out of ink I am the art of nature with endless creations I am life Life will not fail to find the right path and follow it I am Peace
Raylan Pakenham Meadowbrook Elementary, Golden Valley | Grade 4 Poetry Residency Teaching Artist: Marie Olofsdotter
Peace Pie This is how to make Peace Pie. I’m true to my word, so I won’t lie. As for kindness, a gallon, or a pot, Don’t forget love, you’ll need a lot. Three pints of empathy and then, Don’t stop pouring joy ’til I say “when,” A gallon of laughter, and if you’re smart, You’ll brew it up from inside your heart. To make Peace Pie you’ll need some magic. You’ll need nature, or it will be tragic. Stir it up for a minute or two, Then it’ll be good for me and you!
Finn Oesterreich Meadowbrook Elementary, Golden Valley | Grade 4 Poetry Residency Teaching Artist: Marie Olofsdotter
6 | Poems for a World at Rest
Hold On, It Goes Fast Hold fast to Peace, it’s like words on a blue whale’s back Peace comes slow, but goes fast If you do not hold on, then your life will feel like books burning, fairy tales dying, special turnings, normal happiness fading, blue whales dying. But if you do hold on, then the blue whales will thrive ‘till the end of time, the normal will become special, happiness restored, fairy tales remembered, books will come back from the ashes like a phoenix, like a dead body created from hate’s wrath So, hold on for the time being, some things cannot be prevented.
Lazar Williams Meadowbrook Elementary, Golden Valley | Grade 4 Poetry Residency Teaching Artist: Marie Olofsdotter
Poems for a World at Rest | 7
Maine I dart along the bouldery beach, squealing, laughing, getting doused in icy water. A storm out at sea brings big waves—crashing, booming— but I am not afraid. My brother is beside me as we run across the gigantic rocks, with the shimmering ocean filling in the little spaces. Highest of high tides. We bounce out to the farthest rock, many feet of chilled blue torrential Atlantic surrounding us. Wait—what’s this? A mountain of sea rolls towards us. We clutch each other tight, and in it comes, drenching me and Cooper. But I just laugh, as I know this beach inside and out. I know when Grandma and Grandpa will call us in, I know every crack and crevice. It is my place— alone, with seagulls squawking, waves booming, and me, quiet in all its beauty. Emma Bollinger Danielson St. Paul Academy and Summit School, Saint Paul | Grade 5 Poetry Residency Teaching Artist: Joyce Sidman 8 | Poems for a World at Rest
Canoeing I can see the lake and the reflecting sun. We start to float, drifting through a tunnel of trees. The still water and bird songs calm my busy mind. Gnats start to hum. The fish start to splash in perfect harmony. The afternoon turns to dusk. My day on the lake ends as I take in one last deep breath of lake air.
Beckett Bemis St. Paul Academy and Summit School, Saint Paul | Grade 5 Poetry Residency Teaching Artist: Joyce Sidman
Poems for a World at Rest | 9
My Room I find peace in my room— A sanctuary of my interests. My drawings and things I like line the wall like trophies. I have many things that keep me entertained. Books I like to read are perched high and low, and toys I play with or create are scattered across the floor. The desk is the centerpiece— a place where I can let my mind wander and draw it on a piece of paper. I also have my bed— a place I can dream in, or look at the ceiling a lot. Even if I am told it is messy, my room is still a treasure to me.
Luca Koch St. Paul Academy and Summit School, Saint Paul | Grade 5 Poetry Residency Teaching Artist: Joyce Sidman
10 | Poems for a World at Rest
Be the Change Be the change in the world That you want to see Be the change in the world That you want to be Be the change in the world And it starts with me I can change the world When I walk around I see garbage on the ground Instead of waiting for someone else I pick it up myself When my brother fights with me I tell him, “Let me be!” Instead of fighting more I kick the problem out the door When my dog runs away I tell her its not time to play Instead of being cross I give her a treat! When someone bullies me Someone else says, “Hey that’s mean!” I can ask, “Do you need a friend?”
Mrs. Gupton’s Class Le Sueur-Henderson Elementary, Le Sueur | Grade 3 Songwriting Residency Teaching Artist: Charlie Maguire
Poems for a World at Rest | 11
Shine Like a Superhero Shine like a superhero Being good begins with you (With You!) Shine like a superhero Let your light come shining through (Shining through!) Working together Means lending a helping hand (Helping Hand!) Working together Means taking a stand! Listen with your ears That is what we do (We do!) We are getting directions How about you? Helping people That should not feel new (Feel new!) It makes them happy It makes us happy too! You’ve got a friend A friend that is true (That’s true!) It makes me excited And I won’t forget about you!
Mr. Seipel’s Class Le Sueur-Henderson Elementary, Le Sueur | Grade 3 Songwriting Residency Teaching Artist: Charlie Maguire
12 | Poems for a World at Rest
We’re All the Same You could be big, you could be small. You could be short or you could be tall. —but we’re all the same. You can be quiet, you can be loud. You can be shy or you can stand in front of a crowd. —but we’re all the same. You can be happy or you can be sad. You can be angry or you can be glad. —but were all the same. You could be ice, you could be fire. You can be a needle or you can be a tire. —but we’re all the same. You could be black or you could be white. You could be in love or you could be in spite. —but were all the same, we’re all the same. You could be the sun, or you could be the moon. You could be born in December, or you can be born in June —but we’re all the same. You could be fast or you could be slow. You could be a turtle or you could be a crow. —but were all the same. You could be a flower or you could be a weed. You could be messy or you could be clean.
Mikelle Elfert Gordon Bailey Elementary, Woodbury | Grade 5 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
Poems for a World at Rest | 13
Kindness Kindness Is being nice To people we know Even cats and mice Kindness Is showing care To the earth We all share *Being nice, showing we care Kindness is being there Kindness Is planting trees In a garden, and being free Kindness Is being sweet To family and friends On the street *Planting trees, being sweet Kindness to all we meet Kindness Is taking care of you Loving each other, and animals too Kindness For everyone Sharing trophies, that we won *Sharing trophies, that we won
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Kindness is having fun Widmer wasn’t there, Gettel was a sub Kindness Is showing respect To friends we know And their pets Kindness Around the world Like a necklace made of pearls Showing respect, made of pearls Kindness for every boy and girl Eischens et. al. Classes (Ms. Eischens, Ms. Faragher, Ms.Teachout, & Widmer/Gettels) Le Sueur-Henderson Elementary, Le Sueur | Grade 2 Songwriting Residency Teaching Artist: Charlie Maguire
Poems for a World at Rest | 15
The Fields Have It All My joy is in the sky and in the clouds above where we stand. My joy is in the fields in which we wander about and play about, from green to tan, from summer to fall. The fields have it all. Crops changing color in the warm summer months and bearing food in the cool fall. The fields have it all. The harvest can make one wealthy and poor in the mind, draining you like an ice-cold battery. The fields have it all. The fields also have animals of all different kinds. They roam the flatlands, waiting for food to fall out the back of the combine. The fields have it all.
16 | Poems for a World at Rest
Ducks and geese flock to the freshly harvested wheat and corn fields, hoping for a meal, only to meet ambitious hunters waiting patiently for their prey. The fields have it all. the fields blow and sing as if they’re making a song based mostly on whistles the tune is sharp and the words sing themselves. The fields have it all. The people that you meet in the fields open a whole new pathway to different characters in life. The fields have it all. Quality time is spent in the fields with the people you love the most and are the closest to, time and time again. The fields have it all. The sun and the fields are best friends, and we rely on both more than we think or know. So be grateful for what you have, and remember: the fields have it all.
Preston Hallie Roseau Secondary, Roseau | Grade 9 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali Poems for a World at Rest | 17
Seashore I love the ocean. The way it sways, the way it crashes against the shore. The thousands of colors of blue. The second you feel the sand against your toes, When you feel the blazing hot sun against your skin, And don’t forget about the seashells. Hitting the volleyball across the net. Falling asleep in the sun to the sound of the waves. But little do you know that the seagulls are eating your hot Cheetos. When I get back home to Minnesota, I feel a wave of stormy clouds. I hate it. I would rather buy 100 bags of hot Cheetos for the seagulls! But someday, just someday, I will pack up and leave. I will get on a plane and fly to Florida. I will live on the beach and wake up seeing those waves. No, not seeing, feeling. The way my body fills up with excitement and joy. When I see that light blue all the way to the dark navy blue, that’s just a little bit how I feel. I am only eleven, but that doesn’t stop me from dreaming. Dreaming of the day I wake up and look outside to see that wonderful ocean. But right now, I need to tell myself that each day is closer to that one day. C. S. Meadowbrook Elementary, Golden Valley | Grade 5 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
18 | Poems for a World at Rest
Peace Peace flows through the heart Blows through me as the air blows past. Peace fills me like a fragrance. Peace runs through me like rays. Peace stabs the heart of worries and noise. Peace burns through the sound of the outside. Peace, like a globe of fire, expands and fills my Presence. Peace, like an ocean, rolls and crashes in my mind. Peace, like a dove, soaring through the sky. Peace flames blow through the pores of my flesh, and through all space. Peace, like a gun, punctures me with a world of calmness. The perfume of Peace flows over the rows of blossoms. The core of Peace runs forever through the center of all hearts. Rowan Kemnitz Meadowbrook Elementary, Golden Valley | Grade 5 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
Poems for a World at Rest | 19
Sunshine Chorus I would rather be in a field of dandelions In the light of sunshine Under a rainbow, oh, oh, oh, In the light of sunshine Verse Looks like a snowstorm is moving in fast, Take a deep breath, make it last I’m in my bed too tired, hit snooze Breathe in, Breathe out Chorus I would rather be in a field of dandelions In the light of sunshine Under a rainbow oh, oh, oh, In the light of sunshine Westlie et. al. Classes (Ms. Westlie, Ms. Eischens, Ms. Glass, Ms. Sohns, Ms. Tesch, Ms. Nelson) Le Sueur-Henderson Elementary, Le Sueur | Grades K–4 Songwriting Residency Teaching Artist: Kashimana Ahua
20 | Poems for a World at Rest
Sun on the Horizon Chorus Sun on the horizon It’s a Wonderful World Verse Meet me where the water touches the sky And shimmers like a million butterflies Reflecting Glitter surfing the sun Our day has just begun Chorus Sun on the horizon It’s a Wonderful World Verse Meet me where the water touches the sky And shimmers like a million butterflies Reflecting Glitter surfing the sun Our day has just begun
Bigaouette et. al. Classes (Mr. Bigaouette, Mr. Kyrin, Ms. Widmer-Blace, Ms. Meyer, Ms. Donahue, Ms. Nelson, Ms. Floersch) Le Sueur-Henderson Elementary, Le Sueur | Grades K–5 Songwriting Residency Teaching Artist: Kashimana Ahua
Poems for a World at Rest | 21
22 | Poems for a World at Rest
Section 2:
Notes from the In-Between
Notes from the In-Between | 23
June in July You sat there with me as we watched the colors light up the sky. You walked with me as we looked left and right, afraid of the darkness. You talked with me about the hurt, and sometimes we just sat in silence. I stood with you as we looked at the maps and the missing posters. I dug with you to put our capsule of memories in the rich, creamy brown soil. You kept me sane In my scariest and darkest times. We looked at each other Until we couldn’t anymore. I couldn’t live without you, my dearest friend.
Edie Hanna St. Paul Academy and Summit School, Saint Paul | Grade 5 Poetry Residence Teaching Artist: Joyce Sidman
24 | Notes from the In-Between
Red and Blue Lights She comes shooting out like a bullet The more he say, the more he do—she’s waiting on him to pull it The consequence is so big, she believes that she shouldn’t They argue and they fight One last word, and it wouldn’t be a good night She comes shooting out like a bullet Horrific scene, it’s not a good sight She think that she shouldn’t, but then again, she might The more he say, the more he do, she’s waiting on him to pull it Red and blue lights, cuffs on tight Think about it again, did they throw away their life? The consequence is so big, she believes she shouldn’t N. R. Saint Paul Downtown School, Saint Paul | Grade 10 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Desdamona
Notes from the In-Between | 25
A Tribute to Aunthood When my pregnant big sister came to visit our house, all the attention was on her belly. Overwhelmed with envy, I would storm into my room and burst into tears, wondering why no one loved me anymore. I suddenly felt so unimportant. At seven years old, I was the youngest child in my family and was accustomed to being coddled in the extreme. This jealousy problem of mine faded whenever I entered my classroom. I would bring ultrasound photos that my sister gave me, and every time there was a new image, I would have a show-and-tell with my classmates. I would beam with pride talking about my future niece. It seemed the day of her birth would never arrive. But when it finally did, I accompanied my family to the hospital, which seemed luminous and glowing with opportunity. I followed my dad down a long hallway to where he opened the door to my sister’s room. There they were, cuddled in the bed, my sister and the newest edition to the family. As soon as I laid eyes on my baby niece, I felt something I had never felt before: overwhelming pride for someone besides myself. I finally got to hold her and take a good look. My niece was as perfect as perfect could be. She had a head of thick brown hair and ebony eyes, and when she squeezed my pinky I started to cry. I had never experienced anything as pure and delicate as her, nor had I ever loved the way I loved her. In that moment, I evolved from being the baby of the family into a proud aunt. I felt the need to protect her, care for her, and be a role model. Holding her, I felt I had accomplished something major, and that life would never be the same. In the months following her birth, I couldn’t help but obsess over my niece—she was my pride and joy. Every time a new photo arrived, I begged my mom to print it. With every new milestone, I would run to my friends and brag about it. I was insufferable!
26 | Notes from the In-Between
When she was old enough to go to daycare, my niece made me a Valentine’s card covered in hearts. I had her handprints pasted across the walls of my bedroom. Her growth was so rapid, I would never have thought it was possible. One day she suddenly had a mouth full of teeth; another day, it seemed she had grown four inches taller. Today, she is seven years old, the age I was when she was born. I now have two other nieces, one of them her sister. But it was my first time becoming an aunt that forever changed me. I learned how to be responsible for another, how to understand myself and know my true strength, and most importantly, I learned how powerful love can be. Delaynna Mortvedt Roseau Secondary School, Roseau | Grade 8 Memoir and Poetry Residency Teaching Artist: Jon Lurie
Notes from the In-Between | 27
Why Do We? I have a question: Why do we? Why do we do things? Is it to succeed? Is it to be happy? Is it to gain honor? Or follow a faulty belief? I see a falling leaf—it’s a maple tree leaf. Now that tree is gone because of human greed. Why do humans destroy our world? Why do we want it? Why—for money? But money is made up. Money rises like how the carbon rises, polluting the air. And the rain hails down like bullets. Why do we wage a battle? Why do we kill another? I know why. We are smart, too smart for our own good. We are ambitious. I know why we wage wars. I know why we pollute the air, the oceans Why we cut down our trees. I know why, we are humans. Humans are aggressive animals, pushing other animals to the brink of extinction. And each day we learn how human-like animals can be, and how animal-like humans can become.
28 | Notes from the In-Between
We have a special place in the world, not to be at the top of the food chain. We can undo our mistakes. We have the technology to clean the planet. We have the ability to make things right. We have the power to sue for peace. History repeats itself all the time, so when will we learn? We can make the future better for ourselves and for future generations. Logan Yang Roseville Area Middle School, Roseville | Grade 8 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Kyle “Guante” Tran Myhre
Notes from the In-Between | 29
Homeless In the streets where people roam, they have nothing they can really call home. With a bottle or a pill, they chase a dream, made by artificial thrill. They might’ve once had a place to stay, but now they wander, night to day. Drugs take a hold of you and steal your light, It’ll take you into an endless fight. Everyone else’s world keeps turning, but yours is spinning too fast. You’re stuck in your shadows, your regretful past. This broken system leaves souls in pain; their hope is a whisper, and it goes down the drain. I’ll raise my voice and try to mend, I’ll offer true help, not just pretend. Because new changes can start today, and with our help, we can light the way.
Jackson Salinas Creative Arts Secondary School, Saint Paul | Grade 7 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: See More Perspective
30 | Notes from the In-Between
My Hair My hair is frizzy and curly. I cannot control it. My hair is like a garden— it grows wild and uncertain. Hair grows in all shapes and sizes. That’s why I love it. My hair is like a person in offense— you can’t guard it. My hair is frizzy and curly. It will be way different tomorrow than today. It’s like it will never be the same. It’s like a mystery box. What will I get this time? Curly? Wavy? It’s crazy— we will never know. My hair is frizzy and curly. I love my hair very much. They say it holds memories. One time, it was curly and straight in the same day. It was straight at the top— I couldn’t say the same for the bottom. It was curly. My hair is frizzy and curly.
Giselle Thomas St. Anthony Park Elementary, Saint Paul | Grade 5 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
Notes from the In-Between | 31
Different If you walked in the garden And only saw the same flowers Would you stay? Would you look at every single flower in the garden And stay? Or would you walk away. If you saw a bunch of daisies Would you swim in that field? No. You would leave because it was “BORING.” “Boring,” they say, Is that all they can claim? White pearly pedals And the sun in the middle, Like a sunny-side-up egg. That is more than enough. But it isn’t enough. That’s why we live with different flowers. If all flowers were the same, How dull life would be? We have roses, Orchids, Peonies, Lilies, And daisies— They are all different
32 | Notes from the In-Between
Flowers are like humans. No matter how different we are, we are beautiful. Flowers can be Small, Big, Medium, Tall, Short, and different colors that make them pop. Humans are like flowers. They can be delicate and strong. No matter where we are from, We live on the same earth Like how flowers grow from Earth. No matter how different we are We are all human. We were born to be different. Thrive for who you are, And not what other people are. You should BLOOM. Don’t try to change for the world, Change for yourself. If your environment is too small, Get a new pot. Flowers can’t stay in the same pot forever. You are a flower, don’t cower, live for the hour.
Thessayla Bay Creative Arts Secondary School, Saint Paul | Grade 7 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: See More Perspective Notes from the In-Between | 33
Just Because I have tried to succeed, done everything I think I need. But I can’t seem to figure it out— But cannot be in doubt. Just because I can’t do this right now doesn’t mean I’m useless somehow. Just because I am confused doesn’t mean I have to lose Just because I lost, doesn’t mean I can’t win—or even may be the champion. Just because. Just because. Just because you tell me to sit doesn’t mean I can’t keep walking. Just because you tell me to zip, doesn’t mean I can’t keep talking. Just because, just because. Just because I’ve been knocked down doesn’t mean I can’t get back up. Just because I have one chance, doesn’t mean I can’t make the shot. Just because, just because. Just because you think I’m weak, doesn’t mean I can’t smash through a building. Just because you think I’m dumb, doesn’t mean I can’t be building my IQ— like what if it’s up to one million. Just because, just because, just because. Just because I’ve been wrong, doesn’t mean I can’t be right. Just because I’ve lost, doesn’t mean I can’t win the next fight. Just because, just because, just because. I’m not titanium, I can be hurt. But just because of that, I can still make these things work. 34 | Notes from the In-Between
Just because, just because, just because. Just because my elevator didn’t go to the highest level on the skyscraper doesn’t mean I’m dumb—cause look at the rhymes I’m writing on this paper. Just because, just because. Just because I’ve been bullied doesn’t mean I can’t block your bad comments like a goalie. Just because, just because, just because. Just because right now you think I’m not the best doesn’t mean later I can’t ace the test. Just because, just because, just because. Just because I am barely holding on does not mean I have to fall. Never gonna take a pause in my path— your never gonna stop me in my tracks just because you think I can’t do this. Just because I had one bad day doesn’t mean the next will not be as great as opening some gifts on Christmas or your birthday. Just because, just because.
Duke Hoover Gordon Bailey Elementary, Woodbury | Grade 5 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
Notes from the In-Between | 35
The World is Burning They tell me the world is burning But how can I believe them? When all around me, they tell me, “Small actions count, don’t break your bank account.” When on TV, all I see: Cities burning, Islands flooding, People dying, Children crying. They tell me the world is burning And I start to believe them. But what can I do? Just a teenager, As unimportant as a speck of dust. I feel so much disgust at all the people who couldn’t care less. They threw us under the bus. But, this is about us. We only have one little blue marble— and it’s burning like rubble. They tell me the world is burning— And I believe them. They tell me small actions count, but I fight back. The world is burning, Slowly overturning, The small actions aren’t enough. We need to call people’s bluff.
36 | Notes from the In-Between
The world is warning us. It’s depending on us. It’s a piece of cake we’re about to bake— in an oven where the temperature’s too high, and there are no rules to abide by. Because we are too far for second chances, Too far for small actions. The world is burning— and we’re burning with it.
Isabel Pollock Valley View Middle School, Edina | Grade 8 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
Notes from the In-Between | 37
Item of Society We can still fix this…right? Or have we already passed the tipping point? Have we fought a fight we can’t win? Oh, where to begin... All of the rules and expectations Forcing us into a mold that was made By people who are unfair and cruel Dulling the gems and jewels We grow up into a society Who throws away those unworthy Of care and support and trust Like treasures beginning to rust So why do we follow societal restraints? Is it for fame or glory? Or is it to be seen because you weren’t seen before? We want more— More than what we have, more than what we know We became as ignorant as those before us We shied away from the truth Can we still fix this? We put trust into strangers we barely know We are robots, programmed to vote Without proof of any effort, proof of any success But instead, we believed what we saw online No matter how forced, how fake, how forged We believe it We are numb and bored They call us crazy, The ones who know The ones who wield proof, The ones who can show 38 | Notes from the In-Between
Show us the grass is greener Show us the silver lining Give us the hope and joy we’ve been searching for Knowledge is power— But how you look overpowers that What you believe overlooks what you know Facts became wrong and opinions became right It’s really crazy how fast we lost sight Of a world we had to build Children we had to raise People who needed care We got lost in a haze We ruined it all Cared so little We killed our world And blamed our fellow people WAIT. Where was I? Sorry, I got carried away But the world has warned us We chose to ignore it And now we all are items of society— The society that may be our downfall The future of our world has been placed in our hands It’s not if we can— it’s if we will fix this We can’t fail
Lyla Drayna Valley View Middle School, Edina | Grade 8 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
Notes from the In-Between | 39
America They say it matters what you do, what you say, who you like— But why does that matter in a system for us all to be “free”? You read from a book that I know you believe but not all do, so stop pushing, pushing, pushing It onto me You say it goes against your beliefs, so you have to exterminate it just like how guns fire to kill You talk to harm and hurt just because you can… So why does it matter to me what you think? I seem like I don’t but in truth, it clouds my mind, like a disease that has infected my thoughts and feelings So yes, I care I don’t want to care, but you have forced my hand And I will hit back against the chains that hold me down in this here society I know you believe but just because others don’t follow like sheep following the wolf into its den to feast... I follow justice and what I believe to be true I’m sure you love all your brothers and sisters the same, No?
40 | Notes from the In-Between
But I thought you believed you can’t pick and choose What you follow and believe just because you don’t agree You have to stay out and away from everyone else because you are clearly the disease that clouds the minds of the young and turns them bitter Harper Perez Valley View Middle School, Edina | Grade 8 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
Notes from the In-Between | 41
Lost Within At the age where answers seem unclear You must find your path and persevere Too long ago You did stand At the start of your future— Hand in hand Princes and princesses Were once on your mind But now bullies and villains Are all you can find Pink is no longer my favorite And I don’t wear my light-up shoes Duck-duck-goose is in the past— All these memories I try not to lose When my books so dear to me were Baby Beluga and Blankie Those books I read to myself— Such an odd thing Now there’s no space for them on my shelf With no more dolls or Barbie Dreamhouse The house now echoes Silent as a mouse You have matured— But at what price? The child within you, trapped in the ice So let them free That child so dear Find your path and do not fear
42 | Notes from the In-Between
For you and them are meant to be— You are the dream team A glimpse of light will shine through, a gleaming sunbeam Through the darkness, you will find A place of sereness, A state of mind You now again stand hand in hand About to start a new chapter You have not planned
Nora Sannes-Eckhoff Valley View Middle School, Edina | Grade 8 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
Notes from the In-Between | 43
Summer Camp Champ I’m gazing out the glassy window, Grinning one last time at my disappearing parents. Once my parents fully fade from my view, My attention shifts to the other kids as they chitter-chatter, On and on about how they’ve missed one another and other clatter. They already know each other— They’re like family, Hastily going on about the familiarity Of the wide highway leading to camp, certainly, All as the bus rolls on steadily— All thanks to the bus driver, Penelope. I felt like the odd one out Not quite having a good time. My frightful thoughts send a chill down my spine, As if I just saw a threatening sign. As I exit the bus at dusk, I feel oddly at ease, And my fears begin to release—like letting go of a balloon. And somehow, the warm smiles of counselors, Combined with the charming landscape of all the trees And the soft breeze, Brings me to peace. One of those counselors, with her teeth as shiny as pearls, Gives me a tour of the area While reassuring me that I’ll make friends as fast as a flash.
44 | Notes from the In-Between
Heading to the cabin, Betting myself I can perhaps handle the next two weeks, Setting down my bedding, I stop fretting for I’m greeted By a big group of gregarious girls, getting greatly Thrilled by my presence—like I do for a Large chocolate shake. Days were filled with the splish-splashes of canoes, To the crick-crackles of the campfire, And the crunch-crunch of savoring s’mores so late at night. While all these things were as fun as getting a hole-in-one, What certainly counted were the Patient, playful, personable, praiseworthy people I met there. The dark, cold, cloudy, full-mooned night before I left, I could finally cogitate carefully about what made camp so confusingly confounding. Realizing it was the remarkable relationships I’d created Made the whole experience feel a little bittersweet. Now, I look back to understand Unplanned lessons I learned at camp. I learned to care for myself away from my parents. I learned to help others, without being asked. And, most importantly, I learned that doing something that may seem frightening can have big rewards In the end. Mylana Hallaway Valley View Middle School, Edina | Grade 8 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
Notes from the In-Between | 45
The Eldest Daughter My hopes and dreams weren’t mine. They were handed to me, Passed down like chores or family recipes. I was told to be perfect. I didn’t get to decide who I wanted to be. That decision was made… The moment I was born. The Eldest Daughter… of Hmong parents. They looked at me… and saw hope. But I never asked to carry that much. I was praised for being smart. They never asked if I was tired. They never asked if anything was okay. Never once… did they ask if I was okay. Because love— Love looked like high expectations, Like report cards hung on fridges instead of hugs, Like being told “it’s for a better future.” The Eldest Daughter Does dishes without being asked, Becomes a second mother Before becoming a teenager. Carries tradition like weight, Carries guilt like skin. Love looked like sacrifice, because disappointing them— Felt like betrayal. 46 | Notes from the In-Between
The Eldest Daughter... Not a name. A title. A promise. A pressure. A legacy wrapped in responsibility. Always aware. Always available. Always aching. I was shaped by expectations. Molded by duty. The Eldest Daughter carried the weight, of futures that weren’t mine to shape. Taught to sacrifice, Brought to shame when it wasn’t my fault. This voice— This voice is mine. This story is mine. And even if I gently whisper it, I will not let it be erased. Because I was not just The eldest daughter. I am human. And I am tired. But I am still here. Still here.
Ariel Lee Community of Peace Academy, Saint Paul | Grade 7 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali Notes from the In-Between | 47
Where I’m From I come from a background where there is lots of joy. people smiling, big hot, red, sun shining. Vibrant culture, rich history, and diverse cuisine. My great and beloved motherland was a multitude of tribes, unitedly standing. Land of hope, by two rivers divided, with lush vegetation, by nature provided. Where I am from has more than 250 ethnic groups speaking 500 distinct languages. Where am I from, everyone cares for each other like brothers and sisters. They say my culture is poor, and have no food, water, no resources, and no houses. They say we live in tents. But I tell you it’s more than that. My culture’s food, dances, native clothes and music brings children all over the world joy and happiness. My motherland is what brings people together. Where I am from once had me feeling like I was born in the wrong place. Where I’m from had people praying for my downfall.
48 | Notes from the In-Between
Where I’m from had people mocking me— how I do things and how I speak. Where I’m from, I had Many people hating me because of my background. But at the end of day. where I am from defines who I am. Where I come from runs in my blood. Where I come from makes me a better version of myself than before. Where I am from is like a vibrant city— full of energy and innovation. My tribe was tricked into slavery. People were killing themselves because of how bad it was. It was between life and death. My people—my tribe—saying it’s better to die than to be a slave It’s like being with friends and family. Next you’re in a place you never thought you would be. People are still killing one another because of debating which religion is better. People are still killing one another because of money. (continued) Notes from the In-Between | 49
Where I come from was a strong country, where it had lots of stuff you would need— a good government system. Where I come from once had a strong currency, bigger than dollars, even stronger than British pounds. But now everything is falling apart— like that bridge in London that fell. But despite everything that’s going on, we still stand strong. Some people make sure each and every one doesn’t lack anything. Some people hold each other up high. Some people still stick together— like that same multitude of tribes that once united to form our country. My motherland is still the same land— The land of opportunities, The land of hope, The land of pride, and the land of unity. But the People are still smiling, And the big, red, hot sun is still shining. F. A. Community of Peace Academy, Saint Pau | Grade 7 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
50 | Notes from the In-Between
Greedy Understanding Crowds and bunches, squished but grouped like severed canopies. Words, clothes, and skin all blurred together. You don’t differentiate, it’s too overwhelming. Like banana bunches, they all look the same. You tear away at their skin anyway. Their peels begin to split like overripe fruit, spilling their juice on you. Beneath the protection, once they’re stabbed and ripped by blunt fingers, they’re bruised, and sweet, and stringy, and mushy. Your hands are sticky. You’re grinning. You’re greedy. You eat, and eat. Until... Finally... You know them to the core. You jabbed through the thick outer layer. Now, the depths of the crowds and bunches are in you. They’re familiar. You tore until the pulp that tastes appeared. What a joy it is to understand the core of the fruit.
Annika Nygaard Tri-County School District, Karlstad | Grade 11 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Desdamona Notes from the In-Between | 51
Live Life Running through the field, wind crashing into my face, my feet pounding against the dark green grass. Sparklers in hand, the moon shining on my cousins, siblings, and me like a spotlight. Suddenly—wait—did you hear that? Vhewww! Snap! Kaboom! Looking up in awe, hoping this moment never ends. We sit down on the soft checkered blanket, watching the explosions of colors in the sky— mesmerized. Carpe diem. Living in the moment. Just me, you, and I. Live in the moment like you’re catching a sunrise before it vanishes deep into the sky. Live life. Live life laughing and loving, creating and relating, inspiring and acquiring. Live life as though you only have one— because you only have one. Life. Take some risks. Call the call. Jump that jump. Say yes to this and yes to that. What have you got to lose?
52 | Notes from the In-Between
Life. Wave to a stranger and make their day. Hey, hello, hi. Make a new friend. Be caring, compassionate, and kind. Life. Explore the world— because the world is YOUR oyster. Go outside. Take a walk. Admire nature’s endless beauty. Smell the whispering flowers. Life. Learn new things— not because you have to, but because you want to. Open that door to endless possibilities. Practice and do what you love. Just enjoy— Life. Lastly, the final thing I have to say: When you’re saying your last goodbyes, you won’t be thinking about that mistake you made, or how you laughed the wrong way. Instead, I hope you’re smiling in memory of when you watched the explosions of colors in the sky— just mesmerized. Fall in love with living and life. Don’t forget—you only have one. Life. Matilda Flynn Highland Park Middle School, Saint Paul | Grade 8 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali Notes from the In-Between | 53
A Poem About Love I wanted a poem about love— but I want it to be about the love of everything. I love the sound trees make in the wind, whispering inaudible secrets to me. I love just watching the trees in the wind, repeatedly waving to me, trying to catch my attention. I have so much love for little things— like fruit and flowers, like cats and clothes. I love how other people love. At my campground, there’s live music every Saturday, and this older couple sneaks into the campground just to dance with each other. I love the way they love. I love how it feels to open a book for the first time, smelling the fresh pages, reading that first page and being pulled into a new story. I also love how it feels to read the second— and the hundredth— all of the pages, getting to know the story more and more. But I think the page I love the most is the last— to feel proud of myself for all those pages read. I love the way it feels to read the last page and look forward to the next first page I’ll read. I also love how other people look forward to the next firsts they’ll have. I love my firsts I’ve had. I think my favorite first to have is listening to a song for the first time. I love knowing I’ll love a song just by the first time listening to it.
54 | Notes from the In-Between
See this artist in performance.
I love music. Me and my brother like to show each other the music we love. He loves Primus and King Crimson. He loves metal music, but also listens to his favorite anime intros. He sounds weird for this, but he loves what he loves— and that’s another thing I love. I love lots of different music too— like Alex G and Weezer, like The Cure and Chappell Roan. But most of all, I love The Smiths. As I listen to them, my other thoughts get washed away. I love when people notice when I wear my Smiths shirt. I love listening to The Smiths so loud the sound bleeds through my headphones, seeping symphonies into the world around me. I love my best friend. I love how it feels to hug someone you love for the first time. I love how it feels to have a crush— for the love of that crush to sneak into my brain and dance around in my stomach, giving me butterflies. I love getting compliments I haven’t heard before and only might hear again one day. (continued)
Notes from the In-Between | 55
I love so many things. My heart is full of love. It’s overflowing with it— leaking out more and more as I find more things to love, such as art, posters, and movies. Leaking with love, constantly. Drip drip drip, it tells me. Yet I never lose love—only gain more. I wanted a poem about love— about the love of everything. I wish I could keep writing about this as I continue to love more and more. But I think I’d be writing this poem forever.
Sloane Cobenais Highland Park Middle School, Saint Paul | Grade 8 Spoken Word Residency Youth Spoken Word Showcase Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
56 | Notes from the In-Between
Our Dreams “Follow your dreams.” Are the words we were told when young— But never were we told, “Easier said than done.” So we believed them, And like a leaf and a stem Our dreams began to grow. Our dreams vary greatly, Each one ignited and splendid, A spectrum of hopes, unique and true, All as radiant as the light from a star anew. Yet each dreamer, in their heart, feels the same A spark of ambition and a flicker of flame. In the depths of our sorrow, we reach out, Seeking the dreams we yearn to hold tight. When hope seems lost, we ponder aloud: “Do these dreams truly endure through the night?” In these moments. Our dreams sometimes shatter like glass on the floor. But from every fragment, we rise and explore For dreams are resilient, like rivers that flow. They carve their own paths, and they teach us to grow. So keep on dreaming, with passion and fire. Let our hopes lift us higher, as we dare to aspire. For in every heartbeat, and the dreams we conspire, Lies the essence of life, our deepest desire Our dreams. Keep going and growing. And always remember To keep on dreaming—And that no dream is too big. Maesen Kirchgessner Northeast Middle, Minneapolis | Grade 8 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali Notes from the In-Between | 57
Welcome to Womanhood Welcome to the world, sweet summer child. Oops, times up! Time to become unwild, and stay mild. Oh, sweet summer child, how unfortunate for you, born a girl. Born a citizen of silence. (Silence) Time for a lesson in self-reliance, in your eternal compliance. No, this world is not your oyster. You have mistaken your privilege for that of a man, your exploiter. There are no spoils here. Not for you at least. This world is not YOUR feast. Sit pretty, and quiet. Remember, you’re here for silence. Oh, sweet summer child, I know your young, but its time, to doll up, and put on that smile, all awhile you wait for your trip UP for the auction, I mean DOWN the aisle. 58 | Notes from the In-Between
See this artist in performance.
White dress, white picket fence, white diamond smile, white diamond ring. A wife and nothing more—(rhymes with white) isn’t that the dream? Just not yours. Oh, sweet summer child, it’s time for your lifetime stay—(to “cage”) in the pretty pink cage. The sacrifice, your wage. It is time for your endowment into the world of womanhood. Here is a salad, actually no, here is nothing. “It isn’t fair!” you say? Here, you may have the privilege of voting for a man who has blatantly stated his aim to take that right away! But it is your own fault if your owner—I mean your husband—peeks into your ballot box. But remember, this is a privilege. (continued)
Notes from the In-Between | 59
Stay small, and quiet. Nothing to hint that you are something more than an object. “Be quiet and act like a lady,” are the words I was told at the ripe age of SIX when I tried to speak my mind like my male cousins. “Why don’t you go play with your crying, pooping, vomiting baby doll,” (a product that I actually had as a child) “Doesn’t that sound like fun?” is what you told me when I tried to climb a tree like my cousins. Teach your sons to be men and your daughters to be wives. And if they fray from the mold cut the excess off, better yet make them do it themselves. So that they might remember to never differ from the norm. Welcome to the world of womanhood, sweet summer child! Oh how I hope you do survive.
Mia Silva Highland Park Middle School, Saint Paul | Grade 8 Spoken Word Residency Youth Spoken Word Showcase Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
60 | Notes from the In-Between
Morning We Never Want When school starts in the morning, we never want to come, or wake up in the morning. We think it is sometimes a chore. When your alarm goes off, sometimes we want to go Back to sleep.
B. K. Red Lake County Central School, Oklee | Grade 7 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Desdamona
Notes from the In-Between | 61
Steps A step is a step. Like a step on the south side Is like a step on the north side. A step on the west side Is like a step on the east side. They are all steps— No matter how large or small. It is still a step, No matter if It’s dancing fast at night Or slowly walking down the path in midmorning. No matter— No matter if the steps are miles across waves on water Or inches across mossy land. A step is a step. If the step is quickly walking on slow lily pads covered with vines, Or running through a desert warzone, The sand stained red— A step is a step. Whether it’s a slow step forward Or quick backward, It is a step. Whether it’s as fast as a cheetah Or a slow tortoise— A step is a step.
62 | Notes from the In-Between
If the step is on steep mountains Or deep in a valley— It’s a step. A step is a step. If you’re running fast through water Or running on land through a forest— A step is a step. Taking a step at night Or in the morning— A step is a step. Tiny little baby steps Or big monster steps— A step is a step. If the step is when it’s light out or dark out, Warm or cold— A step is a step. Plain and simple.
Lydia Coburn Fridley Middle School, Fridley | Grade 5 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
Notes from the In-Between | 63
Who Are You? When you sit down in the fifth grade, your teacher hands you a paper with your name. “Who are you?” it asks. You stare at the paper and think of what you could place there— but there really are no words to describe how you would say who you are. Now, you would probably start describing yourself, who you are. But your name is just a name— a name your mom gave you. Your last name is just a word— A name, your father’s last name. Your hair color is just the genes that flow through your body. So really, who are you? You can’t describe anything I say, but you can start to say how you are who you are today. From the scrapes on your knees to the scar on your forehead, The missing floorboard to the picture of your favorite band with hit records, The dust growing on the floor since your mom hasn’t swept with the broom in days, The clothes you wore years ago laying on the floor that you now look at in shame. So really, you cannot answer this question: “Who are you?” Adjectives can’t even explain Because really, who are you, and what do you have to say?
B. R. Red Lake County Central School, Oklee | Grade 8 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Desdamona
64 | Notes from the In-Between
Raise the Roof Verse You’re playing hide and seek with how amazing you are You’re fierce and you’re kind and you shine like a star Raise the roof, raise the roof, I want to hype you up Take a deep breath don’t be afraid to roar Chorus You! Know what I’m talking about Oo! Don’t make me get up and shout So Cool! Without a doubt You! Are smart inside and out Verse You’re the sun playing tag with the earth and the sky Show me you’re amazing and I’ll tell you why Raise the roof, raise the roof, hey I’m talking to you Take a deep breath you don’t have to feel blue Chorus You! Know what I’m talking about Oo! Don’t make me get up and shout So Cool! Without a doubt You! Are smart inside and out (Repeat Chorus)
Roe et. al. Classes (Ms. Roe, Ms. Gupton, Ms. Teachout, Ms. Meyer, Ms. Donahue, Ms. Floersch, Ms. Tesch) Le Sueur-Henderson Elementary, Le Sueur | Grades K–3 Songwriting Residency Teaching Artist: Kashimana Ahua
Notes from the In-Between | 65
Personal Percussion Music was a way to unwind, Being able to play it was almost healing. The drums were exciting and cool— Even though I wasn’t great I kept going. Playing songs that I loved, With lyrics that read my mind. Creating and being different was made possible and felt right, Endless possibilities that were controlled by me. With drumsticks that almost felt like a magic wand, With the endless sounds Made by just hitting a different surface— A sound that was so familiar Was now made by me. The drums let me release rage and sadness. When I put on the headphones, I seemed to change— They seemed to hide the growing pains. The pop of the snare, The click of the hi-hat, Distracted my worried mind, Soothing it till it no longer mattered. When I’m happy, When I’m sad, They make me feel heard And muffle the heartache.
66 | Notes from the In-Between
Playing fast metal songs, Or soothing rock ballads, and everything in between. The music— Like an eternal friend That’s there till the very end.
Landon Turner Tri-County School District, Karlstad | Grade 11 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Desdamona
Notes from the In-Between | 67
Me My joy is in a jar like fireflies— For you can shake it, shake it as much as you can, and it won’t die out. My pride is in a pan like the food you find on your very plate— For you can turn the heat on high and flip it around, and it won’t burn up. My fear is an experiment— For you have to run tests to see what triggers it! My joy will shine so bright for the world to see— For the light is a scholar, and that scholar is me. My joy is in my love for music— For it’s like an elevator made out of notes, It can go really high, to really low. My joy is in my friends— For they will be there through thick and thin, Even if they can’t see me. My joy is in my beauty— For I am like a pearl in a sea of tears. My joy is in my family— For they have been there since I opened my small eyes, And they’ll be there until I reach the pearly gates— And will still be there. For my joy is in a girl— And that girl is Me!
B. W. Meadowbrook Elementary, Golden Valley | Grade 5 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
68 | Notes from the In-Between
May 16th My father was a drug. When he was there, you felt a rush— excitement and nervous euphoria. Intoxication for five minutes. Then it wears off. and you start to realize how dizzy you are, how your body feels weak— acid burning on your tongue once those few seconds of hope disintegrate in your mouth. Results may vary when mixed with alcohol. My father was gunmetal— cold and resentful. Cruel. Carrying the weight of killing dreams, an unshakeable grief once it’s fired. My father was the cancer. It festered within and grew more deadly. When he spoke, his voice shook pictures off the wall He destroyed a home with words alone. My father was not deserving of the morphine dripping into his veins while I sat sober and wished for a dad. My father is not deserving of my forgiveness.
Max Severson Tri-County School District, Karlstad | Grade 12 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Desdamona
Notes from the In-Between | 69
Free Like maggots in moldy bread, You’re inevitable. You’re constantly there—like oxygen in the air, Or the pollen lost from pollination that gets stuck in my hair, Messing with my phenotypes as I run barefoot, The warm summer sun smiling down at me As I leave my worries, thoughts, and voices behind me. Focusing on traits I want to perceive, So I can see myself in my own eyes Instead of the eyes of others That expressed other opinions. I kept falling deeper into a sea That didn’t think kindly of me— Chromosomes falling apart into a deeper meaning Of existing and surviving, not thriving, Not yet knowing when I’ll stop, Each time getting deeper and deeper than before. You helped me get through storms, Protecting me from winds you face yourself as well. You see parts of me, hidden by my genomes, Shivering slowly in stormy seas— You helped pull me out. A clone shouldn’t be the real me, and you saw that. Like sparkles stuck on my new pants, I trust you to constantly be there for me. You went through the same stress, fear, and anxiety— That didn’t matter to you. I wasn’t different. We were similar— All recessive in a dominant-based spiral of society, All three of us constantly fighting Against the prying claws of others that wants us to change.
70 | Notes from the In-Between
Like the breeze in my hair, I hear the ocean’s song, but the ocean’s gone. For good? I’m unsure. But it’s all slowly losing water. Our allele’s slightly off—but it didn’t matter. We can all stay away from the water a little while longer, Together, running through concrete That scrapes the bottoms of our feet. Scars stay closed, Keeping in the DNA we need. We’re like the musketeers— A trio of three. Maybe it was written in our genotypes, Hidden in our genes. Running through the warm summer’s night, I let the breeze take away the thoughts and Feelings I don’t need I’m free.
B Ferris Sanford Middle School, Minneapolis | Grade 7 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
Notes from the In-Between | 71
Remember Kindergarten? Remember when we all laughed ‘til we cried, And were too young to think of the thoughts That ponder in my head all the time? Maybe it’s in my genes— The anxiety that owns my thoughts, But all I can do is remember… I wish we could all go back. Back to when no one cared about makeup, Or style, When our mothers bought our clothes for us, And we wouldn’t complain. When they did our hair and we screamed in pain. Of course, You always liked it— Because your mom is your DNA. I wish we could go back to the days in the store When you waved at a random person and they waved back. And you would smile, And for the rest of the day, You would skip around, Too innocent to be embarrassed about it. Remember the time you were running aimlessly? When you fell harder than you had ever before? You decided because of that one moment— That very moment— That you would never run aimlessly again? Those moments that shape you into the person you are? The ones that change you, The ones you don’t forget.
72 | Notes from the In-Between
When I flip through the photo books that document my life, I see a child who is Unafraid to live life to the fullest. And I feel guilty about not letting myself go, About hiding in a world that I am now scared to leave— Because I don’t know how to live in the free one I used to. Kindergarten me was a passionate kid That I hid deep inside me. I wish I had the courage to unearth her From the abyss of my mind. But all I can do is remember the days I wish I could return to— To remember when we all laughed ‘til we cried. To Remember Kindergarten. Mae Musty Sanford Middle School, Minneapolis | Grade 7 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
Notes from the In-Between | 73
Mass of Me Perceive me as you please— go no deeper than the traits I have on the very outer layer of my skin: Curly, cascading hair, Empty, dark coffee-brown eyes, Caramelized, youthful skin, And long, lean legs. I have a facial harmony that is completely different from everyone else around me. So often, I get asked Zoe, what even are you? I am tired. Eyebags droop down from my eyes, formed from the lack of sleep last night. And maybe the heaps of work awaiting me in Google Classroom. This poem must have good words, descriptive verbs In a perfect poetic styled structure. But all I reach for at the end of the day is My pencil— In Creative spews of art throughout my Sketchbook, to nobodies’ rules but mine. Listening to my favorite music: Boa, Mitski, MF Doom, Oasis, Mac DeMarco, Radiohead, A Tribe Called Quest, Weezer, The Smiths, Coolio, Arctic Monkeys, Deftones, Men I Trust, Faye Webster, MASS OF THE FERMENTING DREGS, and more. Artistic ideas flow in my head, splitting off through my veins. I inherited creative genes from my dad, knowing he always had an artistic eye— Splitting off through my veins To the tippy tips of my fingers and toes.
74 | Notes from the In-Between
As I constantly reach for self-expression, And a way out of the constraints the world pushes on me. I am my artistic soul. What are you? The possibility of a child within me, As I learn every day what there is for me to achieve. Chance opportunity, the pureness of youth, exploring the world. New experiences, new people, new sounds, Become less and less as the days go by. This pureness destroyed by the judgmental eyes of society. Because of you, I am whatever box you put me in. Check me off whatever stereotype, personality type A or B Zodiac sign, race, gender, society, and religion You choose. These boxes diminish my individuality until It is gone, forgotten, never to have existed. For your eyes see me as a group, A small piece of a bigger puzzle I can’t grasp. You may never see me, I may never see you For we are all blind to what mass That lies within the passersby we face every day. What are you? I am the passed down chromosomes and DNA From my Brave Ethiopian ancestors. Never having to suffer from the bounds of colonialism (Ethiopia is one of the only African countries to defeat a European power). (continued)
Notes from the In-Between | 75
I participate in my culture by eating the best ethnic foods Made by my mom. The food’s strong aroma fills your nostrils as you walk by the kitchen— Hot, combined with the softness of the Injera, Kitfo made with the best fresh, grass-fed meats, Seasoned to perfection. A bite of flavors exploding in your mouth, Tastes like no other. Tastes like home. I grew up wearing traditional Ethiopian dresses, Always hearing Ethiopian music, And seeing traditional dances. Never once feeling any shame or embarrassment for my culture— Only pride. For it is a beautiful part of me, And an important part of my identity. I am my culture. What are you? I am a mass of passion, A sea of emotions, and perspectives Overflowing, bubbling up within me Spit out through these strong words, Or illustrated with pencil and paper. Never will the shade of my skin, Or the features on my face Define me, or you. You are a mass of you— Not white, brown, black. Ask yourself: Are you the same as the person across the room with the same skin shade?
76 | Notes from the In-Between
I, we, you, Are not a small part of a group, But an individual universe behind our eyes. A world in your mind, Followed by stars for every emotion, And dark, gloomy, or light cloudless skies, Depending on your mood. One in 8 billion. I am a mass of me, And you are a mass of you.
Zoe Struyk Sanford Middle School, Minneapolis | Grade 7 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
Notes from the In-Between | 77
Where I’m From Coming from where I’m from— A tiny town in northern Minnesota A town with only four stoplights One grocery store, Everything a bike ride away. Coming from where I’m from— Everyone knows everyone News travels quickly Discovering a new relative daily Knock, knock The neighbor needs an egg Coming from where I’m from— We all know whose house is whose Hangout plans are always the same Coffee and cherished chit-chats Coming from where I’m from— The grandest gathering: The county fair. The smell of mini donuts dancing through the air Talking to the people you haven’t seen since last year Talking about the same things you did last year Coming from where I’m from Too many greetings at the store: Hi! Hello! How are you? Hi, I’m good, but… Do I know you? She’s a distant relative He must just know my parents Coming from where I’m from— The Minnesota goodbye You know, the one that whispers, “just a minute!” But always loses track of time
78 | Notes from the In-Between
Coming from where I’m from— The friendly people The close-knit community Where I never want to leave
A. B. Roseau Secondary School, Roseau | Grade 9 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Arist: Frank Sentwali
Notes from the In-Between | 79
80 | Notes from the In-Between
Section 3:
Tears that Taught Me
Tears that Taught Me | 81
Needs and Wants I need food, I need water, I need air I need food I need water, I need air I need those things to survive I need food, I need water, I need air I need shelter, I need clothes, I need sleep I need shelter, I need clothes, I need sleep I need those things to survive I need shelter, I need clothes, I need sleep Needs and wants are what we’ve got One is important, and one is not! I want candy, I want toys, I want a phone I want candy, I want toys, I want a phone Wants are things that are nice to have I want candy, I want toys, I want a phone I want pets, I want a drum, I want a bike I want pets, I want a drum, I want a bike Wants are things that are nice to have I want pets, I want a drum, I want a bike Needs and wants are what we’ve got One is important, and one is not! Needs and wants are what we’ve got One is important, and one is not!
Mr. Terrones’s Class St. Anthony Park Elementary, Saint Paul | Grade K Songwriting Residency Teaching Artist: Charlie Maguire
82 | Tears that Taught Me
Facts and Opinions You can have an Opinion Facts are always true Opinions you can make up all day But Facts, you have to prove Dogs have noses They have a tail that wags all day That’s a FACT, you can’t take it back You can’t take it away! The best color is red The best color is blue The best color is yellow That’s my OPINION for you You can have an Opinion Facts are always true Opinions you can make up all day But Facts, you have to prove Guitars have strings They make music all day That’s a FACT, you can’t take it back You can’t take it away! Cheetahs are the best Foxes are too But I like Lions That’s my OPINION for you You can have an Opinion Facts are always true Opinions you can make up all day But Facts, you have to prove
Ms. Austin’s Class St. Anthony Park Elementary, Saint Paul | Grade K Songwriting Residency Teaching Artist: Charlie Maguire Tears that Taught Me | 83
About the Planets Tell you about the planets They’re in the universe MERCURY comes first! Tell you about the planets They’re up in space VENUS is second place! Eight planets all together Orbiting around the sun Eight planets all together Count them everyone Tell you about the planets Spinning around the sun EARTH is the third one! Tell you about the planets Out among the stars The fourth one is MARS! Eight planets all together Orbiting around the sun Eight planets all together Count them everyone Tell you about the planets The Galaxy’s is alive JUPITER is five Tell you about the planets Dark as bricks SATURN and its rings are six Eight planets all together Orbiting around the sun Eight planets all together Count them everyone 84 | Tears that Taught Me
Tell you about the planets Seven not eleven URANUS is seven Tell you about the planets Don’t be late! NEPTUNE is eight Eight planets all together Orbiting around the sun Eight planets all together Count them everyone One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight! Count them everyone! Mr. Crosby’s Class St. Anthony Park Elementary, Saint Paul | Grade K Songwriting Residency Teaching Artist: Charlie Maguire
Tears that Taught Me | 85
Stranger Danger/Trusted Friends Stranger-Danger/Trusted Friends Do you know the difference between them? Stranger-Danger/Trusted Friends Do you know the difference between them? Stranger/Danger is someone we don’t know A Trusted Friend, is someone you can say “Hello!” Stranger-Danger/Trusted Friends Do you know the difference between them? Stranger-Danger/Trusted Friends Do you know the difference between them? If a stranger talks to you, you should run away To a Trusted Friend who will save the day If a stranger offers you candy or a dog You should go to a Trusted Friend And tell them what you saw Stranger-Danger/Trusted Friends Do you know the difference between them? Stranger-Danger/Trusted Friends Do you know the difference between them? A Trusted Friend I’ll tell you who they are It is my family, my grandma and grandpa A Trusted Friend I’ll tell you who they are My teachers and my classmates They are never far Stranger-Danger/Trusted Friends Do you know the difference between them? Stranger-Danger/Trusted Friends Do you know the difference between them?
Ms. Lime’s Class St. Anthony Park Elementary, Saint Paul | Grade K Songwriting Residency Teaching Artist: Charlie Maguire
86 | Tears that Taught Me
Tulip My brilliant chicken, through the doggy door, your cheek puffs come for summer dessert. The one-in-a-million Ameraucana, you were— so smart, so agile, you stole Mom’s cake, almost Dad’s ice cream, too. Into the raspberry bushes, away from the ferocious foxes, with your brown feathers. You didn’t lay blue eggs, but you ate Japanese beetles and some raspberries, too. You smelled like sunlight, dustbathing in a hidden beam. Your sweet disposition shone like a light in my heart. My beautiful Tulip, you’ll never be forgotten.
Addie Kannapiran St. Paul Academy and Summit School, Saint Paul | Grade 5 Poetry Residency Teaching Artist: Joyce Sidman
Tears that Taught Me | 87
The Problem About a year ago, I started experiencing terrible stomach pain after eating. At first, we thought I was lactose intolerant, so we tried a dairyfree diet for a month. When that didn’t work, we tried a gluten-free diet. Again, nothing. We thought it could be Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS), but nothing seemed to be helping me feel any better. It got so bad that I could not eat anything, meaning I lost a lot of weight. I went to the doctor about a year after this all started, and the doctor said that it was a good idea to try all these different diets to try to help before we went to the clinic. After running through my symptoms, she decided that I should get my blood drawn to see if I was malnourished or if I had Celiac Disease. From the results of one of my blood tests, I have low iron. I got medication that I was supposed to take for 6-8 weeks to try and see if it is acid reflux and to bring my iron levels back up. If that doesn’t help, I have to go in again and get an upper endoscopy to check for anything wrong with my stomach or intestines. There could be some inflammation in my stomach or colon. We had thought that maybe I could have Superior Mesenteric Artery Syndrome, but at this point in time, we aren’t thinking too much of it. Part of this could be because there is a kidney disease that runs through my family called Alport Syndrome. It can affect my iron levels. This illness has really taken a toll on my mental health. Every once in a while, I will stop eating for about a week or two because I can’t tolerate any kind of food. When I start losing weight, I get insecure because I don’t feel like myself, and I start shutting out the people around me.
88 | Tears that Taught Me
My friends and family have noticed me acting differently, but anytime they ask, I avoid it because it isn’t something easy to talk about. Since it started, I knew that something was wrong, but I never knew what. Although I may just be starting my journey, I know there is a long road ahead of me. Addy Lussier Roseau High School, Roseau | Grade 8 Memoir and Poetry Residency Teaching Artist: Jon Lurie
Tears that Taught Me | 89
Brain Surgery Earlier this year, I started getting really bad headaches, which was strange because I’d never had a headache before. My mom assumed it was just a symptom of growing pains. But then things just kept getting worse. My headaches turned into migraines lasting up to three days, during which I was throwing up and experiencing blurry vision. My mom grew seriously concerned and made an appointment for me to receive a CT scan at the hospital. On our way home from that appointment, my mom received a phone call. It was someone from the Roseau hospital who said the CT scan had found something concerning and we would have to return immediately. I was admitted upon arrival, shown to my bed, and given an IV. I was told that there was blood pooling on the top of my brain, and that I would need to be transferred to Sanford Hospital in Fargo for surgery to get it removed. I was so scared. The ride to Fargo went way too fast. I prayed the entire way that everything was going to turn out fine. Despite having to talk to about twenty different providers who came to my hospital room to ask questions, I was able to get a few hours of sleep before I was awakened at midnight for an MRI. My hospital experience taught me a lot. For example, the difference between an MRI and a CT scan is that CT uses x-rays while an MRI uses radio waves. The test lasted about an hour, but all I remember were the Bluey characters on the ceiling and a nurse yelling at me for moving around too much. In my defense, I was on sedation medication and barely awake. The nurse who administered the medication thought it would put me to sleep, but it just made me feel crazy. The next morning, I went into surgery where they immediately put me to sleep. When I awoke a couple hours later, there was a little spot on the side of my head where they had punctured it. The surgeon came into my room and told me that when they opened me up, blood came squirting out. 90 | Tears that Taught Me
With each passing day in the hospital, I felt better and better. On the third day, I was able to walk around my room, and on the fourth day, I was discharged and able to return home. I had to return to the hospital every few weeks, once to get the staples removed from my head and another time to get a follow-up MRI. The doctors told me a ruptured cyst had caused blood to accumulate in my brain but didn’t know why that happened. Although my summer didn’t go as expected, I am happy that everything ended well. L. H. Roseau High School, Roseau | Grade 8 Memoir and Poetry Residency Teaching Artist: Jon Lurie
Tears that Taught Me | 91
Take a Walk In My Shoes One foot in front of the other— Take a walk in my shoes! One foot in front of the other— Take a walk in my shoes! I am hungry— Take a walk in my shoes. Can you feel your stomach growling When it doesn’t have food? I am angry— Take a walk in my shoes. Does it make you want to stomp your feet When you don’t know what to do? I am feeling lost— Take a walk in my shoes. If I had a map and flashlight, I’d be ready to cruise! I am tired— Take a walk in my shoes. Can you feel your eyes closing When sleep has to come soon? I am happy— Take a walk in my shoes. Can you feel yourself smiling? That’s the good news!
Mr. Kyrin’s Class Le Sueur-Henderson Elementary, Le Sueur | Grade 3 Songwriting Residency Teaching Artist: Charlie Maguire
92 | Tears that Taught Me
Positive and Negative Writer Jon Lurie, who writes a lot about water, came to our class this week. He taught us about a Japanese scientist named Dr. Masaru Emoto, who did experiments with water. Since the human body is 70% water and humans are alive, Dr. Emoto wanted to figure out if water is alive. I’m not sure if water is alive, but after learning about Dr. Emoto’s experiment, I do think it reacts to feelings. Dr. Emoto found out that water exposed to positive thoughts looked like a strong, beautiful snowflake after it froze. Water that has been exposed to negative thoughts appeared disorganized and ugly. Jon had us test Dr. Emoto’s experiment in class. Here’s how to do it: The Water Experiment Hold your water bottle and say positive things to your water. When you’re done, take a drink and see how it goes down. It will probably taste better than before. My experience with the water was incredible. It tasted great. It went down my throat so smoothly. It was so good that I did it again and again. I even told my mom and brother how good it was and that they should try it. Beyond learning about positivity and water, I also learned about being positive in life. What you put into the world comes back to you. If you spread hate and negativity, you will probably have a bad future, as hate and negativity will come back at you. If you speak positively, you will probably have a great future, as positivity and kindness will come back to you. P. J. Roseau Elementary School, Roseau | Grade 4 Memoir and Poetry Residency Teaching Artist: Jon Lurie
Tears that Taught Me | 93
A Story About a Great Storyteller This week, an author named Jon Lurie came to my fourth-grade class and told us many stories about his interests and his life. He talked a lot about water and had us do an experiment after asking if we believed water was alive. We learned about a Japanese scientist who saw how water crystals became pretty like snowflakes when they were held by someone thinking positive thoughts. Jon had us pick up our water bottles and hold them while thinking positive thoughts. He said it would be an interesting experience, and he wasn’t lying. When I went to get some water from the fountain and took a drink, it went down smoother and tasted better. Each day of the week, Jon brought in new ideas and new stories. One of my favorites was about Jon and his friend José who traveled together in a canoe from Minnesota to Canada (Hudson Bay). Josè was only 18 and had never been on a canoe before, so he was nervous—but Jon knew he would be okay. As Jon started getting into the story, it was so good I never wanted him to stop. But the class period ended, and he had to go, so I had to wait until the next day to hear the rest! One of the strange things that happened to them was one morning was a teenager on a four-wheeler drove into their camp along the Red River and shouted, “The water came up, your canoe is floating away.” Jon and José ran out of the tent, but the canoe was fine. When the teenager saw them, he drove away very quickly. Jon and José had some things stolen out of their camp the day before, and they suspected it was this teenager and he was coming back to take more. One of the things that Jon had to do was keep José from trying to call his friends to get picked up and go home. José was more interested in getting to a Burger King than getting to Hudson Bay. Everyone in the class loved hearing Jon’s stories and begged him to bring José to our class in Roseau. 94 | Tears that Taught Me
Friday was Jon’s last day with us, and some people in my class were sad that he was leaving. I was one of them. But the final story he told is one I’ll think about for a long time. It was about one day near Halloween a few years ago. Jon and his son Malcolm, then ten years old, went to Macalester College where Jon worked. They were about to go into the gym, but Jon felt dizzy, his head hurt, and he couldn’t breathe. He fell on the ground. When Jon woke up, he saw his body lying on the floor. All of a sudden, Jon felt heat waves against his legs, pushing him away from his son. But then he heard his son crying, so he tried his best to stay in place. Good thing Jon stayed in place long enough for people to help him come back to life with CPR. After that, Jon waited seven years on the heart transplant waiting list. After spending four months in the hospital at Mayo Clinic, Jon got news that they found a donor to give him a heart. Jon was sad because he knew someone had died. But now, Jon is healthier than ever!
A. Q. Roseau Elementary School, Roseau | Grade 4 Memoir and Poetry and Poetry Residency Teaching Artist: Jon Lurie
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The Feeling of the Ocean Waves When I feel the feeling isn’t enough— when waves rush and I hear the ocean crashing against rocks, or that’s what I want to hear when I feel the feeling isn’t enough. I feel the air leave my lungs as “talk” I want to speak, but I can’t, because it won’t matter what I say. It won’t matter, it never will. I feel the doubt creep in as I think to myself, Am I really in the wrong? I feel full of life at school, and friends are there, and I’m at school every day, but feel absent. Me, myself, is there, but my thoughts are not. Then I zone out, close my eyes, block sound from and the black— but suddenly, a little light. Then another ding. then another ding, then more— then the blackness is full of it. And the waves of the unreal blue ocean like a lullaby waking me up instead of putting me to sleep. Then I am. I am. I am there. And this time, I’m fully there— even though I won’t always be. But for now, I am. And I can still hear the ocean in the distance……shhhhh
J. H. Creative Arts Secondary | Grade 7 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: See More Perspective
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Life The meaning of life has no definition. It’s never the same. How it’s different, makes it unique, for every living soul. My meaning of life is like a tree filled with leaves— some leaves fall, and others don’t. Like the millions of stars stuck in space, waiting to be discovered. Like fire—it can cause war or peace. Like money—used and wasted, abused and hated, loved and wanted. But is there a meaning to it? Is there a meaning to your life? I don’t know, you decide.
Leah Erickson Creative Arts Secondary | Grade 7 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: See More Perspective
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Four Days Four days. I remember my parents sat me down on the dark maroon couch that groaned as I sat. Those two words— “I’m sorry.” I thought about my life with you— the happy days, the sad days. Now, there were only four left. Three days. I remember when your legs wobbled, where they once ran. The morning runs turned to walks. The eyes that were once full of adventure became small and sad. Two days. I remember—I could tell you understood. The way you looked at me, stayed close, the way you tried to smile— as if you just walked out of a funeral where someone meant to say something funny, but it backfires. It was a smile of pity, as if to say “I’m sorry” or “I hope.”
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One day. I remember the last. That day was the worst. I knew you were going somewhere better— where there were unlimited runs or walks (you preferred runs), where the grass was green, the air smelled strawberry spring. I remember when my aunts, uncles, grandparents, and friends came and went. When your paws ceased to wander, your tail grew still. I will never, ever forget your goodwill.
Annileigh Nelson Valley View Middle School, Edina | Grade 8 Spoken Word Showcase Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
Tears that Taught Me | 99
The Untold Burden Worn hands, begging eyes, a grimy face, From dawn till dusk and beyond, There is a battle of hunger to face. Oh, the streets grieve the silenced screams, Of crushed hearts and all those crumbling dreams, Of babies’ cries and mothers’ eyes Waiting to see the coins gleam, While friends move along upstream. While the world looks away, All too oblivious to care, While hunger spreads its wings through the air, Branching out, as poverty creeps along, Groaning its pathetic song. About dreams being left behind, Like ashes on stone, While others guard wealth They call their own. With worn hands, begging eyes, a grimy face, From dawn till dusk and beyond, There is a battle of hunger to face. With kids who live in longing for a school, Yet they still get the feeling Of a pressing exclusionary rule.
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But, in the dark little corners, Hope can persevere, A little spark despite a strong frontier. In every tear, gash and scar, And even through a memoir, A voice can be a star— And that voice can rise, No matter how far. A voice to tell of a burden That very few will understand— The burden of standing On shaky, shaky land. With worn hands, begging eyes, and a grimy face, From dawn till dusk and beyond, There is a battle of hunger to face. Yet if one person stopped to pay Just a mere visit, They would see them withering away Or just lost in the fray Of life moving around and away. Yet people embrace the world’s obliviousness, And on payday show no kindness, To people just wanting a path away From the underground subway. So to those people who bawl over a lost shoelace, Remember those worn hands, begging eyes, and a grimy face, Who from dawn till dusk and beyond, Still fight the battle of hunger to face Saanvi Magavi Valley View Middle School, Edina | Grade 8 Spoken Word Showcase Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
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Wonder I wonder why there is hurtful racism, and why the supposed “superior” people— as painful as a chomp to the leg— are considered to be judges of race? I wonder why there is still corruption, and why there is torture, rampage, and theft? I wonder why people would happily make fun of people who are different from others, and laugh at them— their hatred is as enormous as a burning flame, especially at a school which is supposed to be as peaceful as a quiet library? I wonder why there are corrupt cops, As vicious as a virus, spreading worldwide nonstop, and presidents as evil as world-genocide-massacring maniacs, Who make bad choices for the country Instead of good, disciplined, and pure-hearted choices? I wonder why people, as a society, commit crimes every day as large as a galaxy, all around the world? I wonder why can’t we have shining peace instead of ruthless violence, brutal assaults, useless arguments and unneeded judgement?
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I wonder why people naturally watch, and gracefully record. instead of helping others that are in danger, hurt, and are suffering as if they’re as useless as a broken pencil? I wonder, why?
N .Y. Community of Peace Academy, Saint Paul | Grade 7 Spoken Word Showcase Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
Tears that Taught Me | 103
Drip, Drip, Drip Sometime in December 2023 I glide on the snow. My skis have just been waxed, so it’s like I’m floating. I zoom across the course. I stop and slip a little, but stay steady. My head flips around and I see Mexx, the foreign exchange student from the Netherlands. He is my ski buddy. He’s not so great on snow yet, so when I ski with him, I feel much better than I really am. We ski up to this huge hill. It feels as if we are on Mount Everest. “Careful, it looks icy,” Mexx states. But I don’t hear him. I’m too deep into thought. I’ve never fallen down a hill, so I think to myself. “You are gonna be fine.” I allow Mexx to go first, even though I’m so excited. He glides down like an angel. His form is perfect. I groan, jealous. I try to one-up him by zooming past. I loom closer to the edge of the hill. Fear overcomes me but I push through. I go down and feel amazing—until I hit a small patch of ice. My mind knows what will happen next, so I shriek. SMASH. My face hits the ice on the hill like a bird hitting a window. The pain is unbearable, but I pop up. My eyes zoom around, dazed. I’m so embarrassed. Everyone is pointing at me and staring. I want to cry. Mexx makes eye contact with me, but he does nothing. I push myself up and notice my skis are scratched. Drip, drip, drip. A gentle drip runs down my face. I am too embarrassed to realize. Everyone is looking at me, some laughing, some gasping, some going ooh. I want to cry. I can barely even shuffle myself over to Mexx. Who looks pained to be seen with me. Mexx gasps and mumbles. “You are bleeding, Isla,” I freeze. I can’t be.
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I turn around and see a splash of blood on the course from where I fell. I rip off my mitten faster than lightning hitting the ground. I wipe underneath my nose. A fountain of blood appears on my hand. I look down—drip drip drip. The blood drips on my Bjørn Dæhlie ski jacket. A random girl skis up to me and Mexx. “Are you ok?” She asks. I wipe my nose again and hurry out, “Yes.” She and Mexx exchange a look. I want to die. Everyone has seen me fall. This is too embarrassing. But the only way back to the chalet is far. I look at Mexx in a way that causes him to come ski next to me. We slowly ski up a hill. Drip, drip, drip. My nose is dripping out more and more blood. I keep wiping off my face. The crusted blood is stuck to my lobster gloves. My face and nose have a throbbing sensation. I’m uncomfortable, but I can’t let anyone know. I feel the tears coming. I push through the pain and embarrassment after my fall. Mexx and I made it up the hill. It takes us a long time, but we manage to scurry to the top. My face is covered in a crusted red goop. The blood had managed to drip some into my mouth. The tangy, metal taste leaves a sour and bitter feeling in my throat. I stop at the top, I wipe my gloves in the snow and a giant red streak appears. I look down at the snow, drip, drip, drip. My nose is still bleeding. The pain is slowly but surely becoming unbearable. I make Mexx wait with me at the top of the hill. I have to sneeze so badly. I force myself not to. Mexx gives me a pitiful look as he dashes down the hill. I creep toward the edge. I’m so incredibly scared. Drip, drip, drip. I wipe my nose again. I touch my nose gently and a sharp eruption of pain appears. I bite my lip—hard—trying to mask the pain. I slowly make my way to the hill. Let go and go down the hill, I tell myself. All you have to do is let go. I. S. Anoka Middle School for the Arts, Anoka | Grade 8 Memoir and Poetry Residency Teaching Artist: Jon Lurie Tears that Taught Me | 105
My Family Situation I sat there feeling uncomfortable, my face flushed and my ears burning. A soft pink hue tinted my cheeks, and my stomach twisted in knots as I felt the weight of others’ gazes on me, as if I were some sort of alien. It became too overwhelming, and I couldn’t remain in the classroom any longer. I signed out and escaped to the bathroom to gather myself. We had an assignment to create a project about ourselves and our families. I have two moms who have been a constant presence in my life since I was born. Since I’ve never met my father, I chose not to include him in my project. During a gallery walk to showcase our hard work, I felt like I could read the expressions on my classmates’ faces, sensing their unspoken judgments. Thoughts like, “You’re weak because you don’t have a dad,” or, “You’ll never amount to anything without a father,” seemed to hang in the air. Some students were openly judgmental, and their perceptions hurt deeply. They viewed me through the lens of my family situation. A few even avoided me, as if they feared they might catch “the gay parent disease” or something ridiculous like that. Unfortunately, I’ve struggled with this my entire life, and it still continues. While it’s not as severe now, people remain judgmental. Most of the time, I avoid discussing my parents, and if I do, others often assume I mean my mom and what they think is my stepmom, even though that’s not the case. I long for the days before middle school when I didn’t care what others thought. Back in elementary school, no one really cared about my family situation—except for maybe a few teachers. I wish that indifference still existed, and that no one had issues with it at all. J. F. Anoka Middle School for the Arts, Anoka | Grade 8 Memoir and Poetry Residency Teaching Artist: Jon Lurie
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Jealousy I stand on the podium, but at the lowest step. An electric guitar solo is super-glued inside of my brain. It makes me clench my teeth and furrow my brow—yet I want to listen to it forever. I no longer care that I wear the same uniform as the honorable one on the top step. She is my competition, teammate or not. I need her to be made a fool of. She will regret having the audacity—daring to show in her actions that I am her inferior! The feeling in my head is one I am well-acquainted with. In fact, we might be friends. Jealousy is my best friend, my partner, my idol. It’s a failed experiment created by a mad scientist, who preys on the insecurities of humankind. The champion on the podium that was once sweet, now tastes bitter. My mind walks on pins and needles when I’m not on top. I am now addicted to a bad invention. It is burnt toast—disgusting and a mistake. But perhaps jealousy isn’t a bronze medal, an electric guitar solo, a friend, an idol, a mad scientist, a bad invention. Maybe all along— jealousy is me?
Grace Swartz William Kelley High School, Silver Bay | Grade 9 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Kyle “Guante” Tran Myhre Tears that Taught Me | 107
Tissues Don’t Solve Issues Tissues don’t solve issues, they say. So I pack up my problems in boxes labeled by day because tissues won’t make you skinny, or pretty, or bring back the old me. No, they’ll just fill up the trash can, overflowing by now, surely. Behind the mask I wear everyday is a broken sense of self that can’t be fixed. I am told to accept the way things are, I stand on the edge of my whole world crumbling beneath me, and every time I’m told not to cry, a little piece of the little girl I used to be slowly dies. I am lost. Lost in the thoughts in my head, missing when my biggest problem was those monsters under the bed. But now it’s the monster in the mirror, telling me I’m not enough For the standards of a teenage girl. I’ll change the way I live so my peers will accept me. Start eating less, working out more, watching the carbs. Don’t show emotion, don’t show how I feel. Speak less, listen more—to the media “How to be the perfect girl.” Be kind Be pretty Be quiet Be polite Be who you are—but not too much, because then no one will like you. You have to be perfect Perfect… 108 | Tears that Taught Me
The silent scream of a teenage girl, and the long-lost dreams they write down, just hoping they don’t lose themselves, like I lost myself. Lost in the thoughts in my head, telling me I don’t amount to anything, telling me to hide my silent screams from the childhood that was taken away from me, and the tears I’ve held for years. Tissues don’t solve issues. Haddie Moore Highland Park Middle School, Saint Paul | Grade 8 Spoken Word Showcase Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
Tears that Taught Me | 109
October 22, 1989 October twenty-second, The day a life ended. An eleven-year-old boy, Who still loved his toys. Threatened by a gun, The most feared weapon known. Known to an adult, a parent, a teacher, Even to an eleven-year-old child Who had done no wrong. Why Jacob? Why not someone else? I know it’s not my fault. I had done nothing wrong. But it’s hard to believe That he’s gone While I’m free. I thought kidnappings were just a nightmare. told myself they were just my imagination. So why did this horrible nightmare of a curse Fall on my family? My amazing, loving, caring family? I don’t get it. Why am I allowed to be living my life to its fullest, Dancing competitively, Surrounded by the best family and friends imaginable, Yet writing a spoken word poem about how you’re gone? You’re gone. Too soon.Way too soon. But see, I try to find peace in the fact that you’re gone, You’re in a better place now. I hope you’re happy, Dancing with unicorns by a rainbow, hopefully. 110 | Tears that Taught Me
So Jacob, if you’re listening, I want you to know that we never let go of hope. Those 27 years you were missing, Your family searched And searched, And searched, Every-Single-Day. Because they knew That they could never give up on a boy Who has all 11 traits a parent could ask for. You’re fair—you can’t handle injustice. You’re kind—you give and give and give, until there’s nothing left to give. You’re as understanding as your father. You listen and are truly there for anyone who needs it. You’re as honest as a lie detector. You’re thankful—you show your gratitude at any given moment because that’s just the person you are. You’re a good sport—you love hockey but won’t be mad if you lose. You’re a good friend. You’re a joyful Christmas morning—almost always happy. You’re generous—you’d give a trillion bucks to someone if they really needed it. You’re gentle with others—like a teddy bear is to a toddler. And lastly, you’re as positive as your mom. You have the ability to lift up the energy in a room, Which is a quality not many have. I know me and you have never met, But I’ve heard so many amazing stories about my uncle Jacob. Growing up not knowing where my uncle was, was hard, But your family cared for you more than ever. (continued)
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On October twenty second, I lost my uncle. My mom lost her brother, and my grandparents lost their son. But we also gained those 11 traits. So thank you for shaping us to be the people we are today. We learned that with love comes heartbreak. With heartbreak, comes trauma. But in trauma, we find hope. And with hope, we finally find peace. So Jacob, If you’re listening, I hope you’ve found peace. You will be in our hearts forever and always. With hope and love, Maizie
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Maizie Hughes Highland Park Middle School, Saint Paul | Grade 8 Spoken Word Showcase Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
The First Time I Met My Grandpa I was one year old. It happened on my birthday. He picked me up for a picture. When I got older, he would pick me up from daycare, bring me to his house and he would tell me stories. He was 5’10 and liked to wear plaid shirts. He loved to talk to people. We would always say that wherever he went, He made at least one friend. He also loved to shop for cars, And pretty much every year, He would drive his car in the parade. He would ask me to throw candy out his car window. After the Fourth of July parade, we would go to my cousin’s cousin’s place to go tubing. When I was younger, he would tell me stories— about his younger life. He would tell me stories of his daughter, who died at the age of twelve. Now he has left this earth, And I am so thankful for all the stuff he did for me. But now, he has joined his daughter. Parker Lundeen Red Lake County School, Oklee | Grade 8 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Desdamona Tears that Taught Me | 113
Feelings Sometimes you feel like you just can’t breathe You just sorta freeze You just need a breeze To help make it right. So sometimes— You might take flight like a bird, You might fight like a wrestler, You might freeze like a popsicle . When you feel like you can’t breathe, Like holding your head under water. You need to center yourself. Believe in yourself . Sometimes It is so intense your brain just freezes. The alarm turns on. You devour a Sour Patch Kid—zzz— That helps a little. Next, you try Butterfly taping—pat pat pat— that helps a little. Now you are at an eight Slowly, The alarm turns off You still don’t feel right. So you breathe in, then out. Then you do it again—breathe in, then out. You are still sorta frozen In this broken world.
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Then you start to dance, Swaying like a tree in the wind The pivots, the turns center you You are in control of yourself. Keep dancing —swish, thud, swish— You keep on dancing, Feeling calm throughout the night. So when you just can’t breathe Do what you love Just center yourself Believe in yourself Then, only then, you can be free. So when your feelings come on a river current Meet them Show them love With what you love. Then the hard feelings will go away And you will only be left with joy, hope, peace, love, happiness Maybe that can fix our world. When we understand what we feel We can let it go away. But sometimes it’s hard to let feelings go— Especially if they are big. So it is important to ask for help Doing the things you love. then your big feelings go away.
Josie Jones Fridley Middle School, Fridley | Grade 5 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
Tears that Taught Me | 115
Anxiety Was My First Gift My first birthday present was anxiety. When I say “first,” I don’t mean when I turned one— I mean when I was born. It was a great gift of great value; it must’ve been expensive. It was rare. Anxiety was delivered through DNA. It’s a small delivery business. My dad made the order. He had it and thought I might like it too. Now my 46 chromosomes are filled with anxiety! Wow. I bet you want anxiety now too. Anxiety was passed from cell to cell in my family’s bloodline. But anxiety is more than a concept. It’s a little friend on your shoulder that makes sure you’re not making any bad decisions— like leaving the door unlocked, or not thinking before you send a text! Anxiety is mean, And toxic, And bossy. But all friendships go through rough patches. Wow! I bet you want anxiety now too! Probably… 116 | Tears that Taught Me
But wait—anxiety has a 5 out of 5-star review. Everyone who reviewed anxiety started overthinking anxiety Got so lost in overthinking anxiety, they 5-starred anxiety. Some people say it’s a curse, but maybe it makes you smart! Wow…I bet you want anxiety now too. ... No pressure!
Maydi Loftus Sanford Middle School, Minneapolis | Grade 7 Spoken Word Showcase Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
Tears that Taught Me | 117
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Section 4:
Unfiltered Me
Unfiltered Me | 119
Chose Silence I woke up with the same feeling I have every day: dullness. That feeling when you know you don’t belong. When you know you’re stuck in the wrong world— a world of people who want to talk so badly but can’t. But me? Me? I don’t want to talk. Ever. Not to these people. Not to anyone. I ensure my room is neat and tidy, then walk out without saying a word, as usual. As people greet each other in the hall, they go silent when I walk by. Not because they are scared, but because they know there is no point in saying anything concerning me. In the hall, I see a little boy, who seems to have duct tape over his mouth. He tries to speak, but every time, his mother stops him. We make eye contact, and time stops. As I come back to reality, his mom tells him to be more like me— to not speak. To not worry her. But she doesn’t know me, no one does. No one knows how my parents write me letters that I never read, and no one knows how I shed a tear because no one knows me. But maybe it’s for the best, because why would they want to? I carry on with my day, but now that I have seen that little boy, that’s all I can think about—the little boy with duct tape over his mouth. Who are you? After a few hours in a regular and boring day, I head back to my room. As I open the door, I hear a noise come from next door. I know I shouldn’t, but I go back into the hallway and go into the room with the noise—to find the little boy with duct tape on his mouth, crying. He’s trying to get the duct tape off. His mom isn’t there, so I help him.
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It’s stuck on there like it’s been on for decades. He looks scared. I try to imagine what he could be scared of—me? His mom coming back? The duct tape hurting when it gets ripped off? A mix of all three? I start to think about what I’m scared of: being alone, getting made fun of for everything I do, or being me . But that’s not the point. I motion to the boy that I will go back to my room and look for scissors, I think he tries to say, “Hurry back,” but it’s very hard to tell. I rummage through my desk drawers looking for scissors. It takes about three minutes before finding them buried under a mountain of pencils. As I run back through the door and into the other room, I’m relieved that his mom isn’t back. I cut off a corner of the duct tape and slowly tear it off. I see the tears running down his face as I do this, but after a couple of minutes, the duct tape comes off. He speaks, and I speak back.
Sasha Lipset St. Paul Academy, Saint Paul | Grade 6 Creative Writing Residency Teaching Artist: May Lee-Yang
Unfiltered Me | 121
What Is It Like? Well, don’t ask me—cause I still don’t know. Every little thing they say still feels like a low blow. And I don’t know if the things they say are true. I can hear what they mutter under their breath, The things that make my heart thump, And my ears ring. And all I can do is walk and walk until I want to scream. What is it like? To feel like you’re to white for the black kids, But not white enough for the white kids. To feel like you are the one who doesn’t belong . I don’t know. Cause I can’t seem to find anyone who understands, That I’m not some exotic animal, That I’m not some new brand that came out. And if I can’t get anyone else to see, What does that tell me? How am I supposed to explain What it feels like? How am I supposed to explain That being biracial isn’t bad, That you shouldn’t be worried to say who you are Without someone getting mad? To have someone tell me who I am Just because my skin tone isn’t dark enough, Yet it’s never light enough either. So I guess, since you know, what does it feel like? Since you seem to care so much, You tell me.
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See this artist in performance.
But you know what? Why should I care? Why should I care About what they think of me? If they think my clothes are stupid, Or my hair is messy. Why should I care if they whisper behind my back, And shoot down every word I say, And every idea I present? Why should I care when I know that they don’t? Why should I care if they think my hair isn’t neat, And my clothes aren’t rich, And my English is just never the right pitch? Because honestly, I am done. I’m done being insecure About the things I can not change, And for the things I’m proud to be. I’m done being someone everyone else thinks I should be. If I can not be the person you want, Don’t pretend like you care about me. Don’t try and make me believe I am not enough. Because I may not be who you want, But I am who I always was, I just never showed you. Because for who I wanted to be, You never truly wanted to see that part of me. And I cannot keep denying myself Of that person who is still hiding right now on that shelf. (continued)
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That person. That little girl I used to know, That little girl that no matter what, She used to glow. That fearless spirit, I used to have. And because I was insecure of someone I’m proud to be, I let you take that away from me. And yeah, it may be my fault. And I know somewhere she’s still in there, She’s just locked inside a vault. But since you wanted to know, What does it feel like? Well, when you block out every taunting breath, And everyone who wants to watch you fall to your death— When you stop listening to everyone waiting for you to fall, It feels like this. Like I am a mix of people and culture, Who have different hair and body types, Who have different motivations and aspirations. And for crying out loud, we come in all different shapes, sizes, and colors. So, you don’t have to like me, You definitely don’t have to love me. And when I walk by you can give those hated looks. But I hope you know that when you try and tear me down, You’re only causing yourself to drown— From all that hatred you keep inside, From all that jealousy of the people Who aren’t afraid to be who they are outside. Just let me remind you, That no, I may not have that big white house, And to you, it might look as small as a mouse. But at least I’ll be able to be true to myself. 124 | Unfiltered Me
One day, I hope you realize That you and me, We’re really the same. But starting right now, I’m done playing this dumb game. So you asked me, What is it like? Well as I stand here, telling you the story of me, What do you see?
Rihanna Levy East Ridge High School, Woodbury | Grade 10 Youth Spoken Word Showcase Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
Unfiltered Me | 125
Them Over There Them over there with women who cover their hair in “oppression” Women who CHOOSE to raise kids and stay at home— but in the west its only “oppression” An outsider looking in, all we are is oil, war, and terrorists, with nothing but land and land of sand Feminists fight for the rights they think we don’t have A hijab is forcefully put on, instead of a choice Them over there with wars that kill thousands But then WE fight back, and WE are the terrorists? Them over there, where the West only shows that they are our foes Them over there who get overlooked and overshadowed by the West Them over there who get hated by the West They take what we make and call it theirs They take our land and call it theirs Countries in genocide or civil war that the West says we started They know that we didn’t start it, but we stay so silenced Oh, but then they talk about it in school, and they give us complements They’re all backhanded They only show the richest and the rolling sand dunes with sun gazing overhead That’s all they show But why is that? Why is that they just call us these names and assume we are all bad people? Why is that they just assume we all live the same life, and we are all the same? Beneath the surface of these misrepresentations lies a rich cultural heritage A profound history that remains unseen 126 | Unfiltered Me
We have a land where ancient stories weave It’s a tapestry that the West doesn’t see It’s a place with culture deeper than they could ever perceive They see only war and strife and fear, ignoring all the beauty here We have so much more to bestow that they just don’t know… or don’t care That’s the issue They. Don’t. Care. They have ignorance that covers their eyes and ears like a blindfold Covering them from the truth like a cloak But once they find out what’s really happening, they realize the truth We are not all the same We aren’t only good for oil So, it’s my job to tell you all that them over there have given so much more that you just don’t know
Zayna Thabit Valley View Middle School, Edina | Grade 8 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
Unfiltered Me | 127
1.4º Celsius 1.4º Celsius our last line of defense, A thick visor Separating us from our future the only remaining white pearl of sand, slipping through the hourglass. Awaiting a future of skies thick with smoke, a gray earth Dreaming of long grass waving in the wind bland and unimpressed with the thick layer of turf under which we hide the truth. 1.4º Celsius the years ahead of us, wide awake, creeping amongst our sleeping bodies. Why would we stay fast asleep, when we know the end is approaching? Garbage floating in the ocean, like the despair drifting in the pools of water in our eyes. Empty cans spinning through the sewer grate, as confusions spins through my head. In the distance, a graveyard of industrialization The ghost of undead vegetation present. Each puff of smoke, a hurricane ripping through the sky, destroying what we know to be true. 1.4º Celsius And people are dying. And what are you doing? Writing a poem? Wait, Are you actually doing anything at all? 128 | Unfiltered Me
No, not really. But you can cry and pretend that you care. We can all pretend that we care. But empty words won’t change a thing. Why are you crying? isn’t this what you wanted, when you drove two cars to the same place? When you could have just carpooled? Why are you crying? Isn’t this what you wanted, when you ripped trees out of the earth, plugging your ears to drown out their screams? Why are you crying? Isn’t this what you wanted, when you bought that plastic water bottle on vacation, gazing out at the ocean The world’s junkyard with the highest fatality rate? Our ecosystem no longer thriving, simply just surviving Just fighting to stay afloat. We are burning the boat. Yes the boat that we are standing on. We knew it was coming. So why, why are we crying? 1.4º Celsius In the back of our mind, Our mute conscience knows that we cannot help ourselves. The progress of man is as far as we can dream.
(continued) Unfiltered Me | 129
What we need is a preschool for if our politicians are children, who lack sophisticated thinking, How will we save ourselves? What we need is a prison For if our politicians are criminals, who threaten our survival, how will we save ourselves? But what we really need is a needle, a needle to pop the bubble of false reality that our politicians live in. Because if our representatives live in a different world than us, How will we save ourselves? 1.4º Celsius Knows its time is fleeting, retreating for somebody else uninvited to the party celebrating our defeat. 1.5º Celsius is where we’ll be in fifty years forthcoming, for those forever fighting. When unwillingly they wither, buried by the last pearl of white sand, wondering where the time went.
Maisy Mau Highland Park Middle School, Saint Paul | Grade 8 Spoken Word Residency Youth Spoken Word Showcase Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
130 | Unfiltered Me
Chasing the Sun I wandered far to find my name, Through noise and doubt, through praise and shame. I wore the masks the world had made, And lost myself in light and in shade. I chased approval, chased the sun, Believing wholeness had to be won. But each new mile I crossed, each echoed “why?” Brought me closer—not to the sky, but I. In silence deep, where shadows grow, I met the parts I feared to know— A fragile voice, a buried flame, Not broken, just without a name. I learned that the self is not a goal, But layers peeled to touch the soul. No map was drawn, no stars were pressed, Just questions lived, and truths confessed. And now I walk with softer pride, No need to chase or run or hide. The road ahead, the road behind, Both shaped the me I had to find.
Brock Hortenbach-Devine Le Sueur-Henderson High School, Le Sueur | Grade 11 Creative Writing Residency Teaching Artist: Nicholas Pawlowski
Unfiltered Me | 131
Enough Why am I not enough? I think to myself I am white and Latina But if I were to tell someone that They would be confused Because I look like I was made to change colors due to the seasons Like a chameleon Why was I cursed with this? Why do I look like this? Why did my parents have to do this? I ask myself Make me answer all these questions Like I’m an answering machine that had legs and arms Please don’t assume though Because little me All she wanted was to look Like everyone around her Well, we’ll we just say white Because if you assume I’m Mexican, white, Indian, or just nothing, You would be upsetting little me But all those random people didn’t care Hurting a little girl’s feelings Staring for 5-4-3-2-1 At least ask before assuming Please, I plead to everyone and anyone Because I had never thought I was different until Everyone around me never had to experience what I had Random men asking if I’m adopted Whenever I was with my mother The same men That always have that annoying little smirk on their face 132 | Unfiltered Me
My parents are yin and yang Like black and white walls surrounding us The contrast in between them is significant But that contrast isn’t seen in me Just if little me knew what was coming for her.. Because my life might change soon Because of the color of my skin Because these old white men get to dictate My future My life If I tell someone I’m white or Latina They don’t believe me Until they see the two halves of me My parents They look like Whole milk and chocolate milk It looks like someone took a spoon And twirled my parents around In circles and circles like a carousel to make me But carousels don’t make kids So it’s not that Because my parents are humans And humans love If humans love Where was the people’s love When they ask me if I’m adopted? It makes me feel misplaced As if I were a little girl’s teddy bear She lost when she was three Then found it again four years later It’s like the bear found courage to come walking back (continued) Unfiltered Me | 133
Something I need to do Find the courage To be able to tell people Who I am What I am Why don’t people think? Maybe next time think I beg you—just try
Gaby Azocar Manske Highland Park Middle School, Saint Paul | Grade 8 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
134 | Unfiltered Me
The Hill Called Doubt Twelve-year-old Mason stood at the base of the steep hill behind his neighborhood, his bicycle’s front wheel wobbling in the grass. Everyone else could ride up it—but not him. Every attempt ended the same: halfway up, legs burning, heart pounding, and doubt whispering that he wasn’t strong enough. That whisper got louder in school, too. He was behind in math, afraid to speak up in class, and tired of always feeling like he was one step behind everyone else. One afternoon, Mr. Reyes, the janitor who often worked quietly during after-school hours, noticed Mason lingering. “You alright, kid?” he asked. Mason shrugged. “I’m just not good at stuff.” Mr. Reyes leaned on his mop. “Then get good. Little by little. A mountain doesn’t care how fast you climb it—just that you keep climbing.” Mason didn’t say anything, but those words stuck with him. The next morning, Mason set a goal: ride one foot higher up the hill than the day before. It wasn’t easy. He failed, fell, and sometimes wanted to quit. But every day, he tried. Slowly, he gained ground—not just on the hill, but in school too. He started asking questions in class, staying late for tutoring, and practicing at home. After three weeks, he stood at the top of the hill, panting and grinning. He didn’t feel like the same kid anymore. Because he wasn’t. He was someone who kept climbing.
Z. S. Le Sueur-Henderson High School, Le Sueur | Grade 11 Creative Writing Residency Teaching Artist: Nicholas Pawlowski
Unfiltered Me | 135
Normal Ideas Ideas. Weird things, aren’t they? As I’m standing in front of you all, feeling like I’d be more comfortable at my own funeral than here, ideas are flooding in like a waterfall. Whooosh. They push and shove as they cascade through my skull, sliding, smashing, stretching and shrinking. All the things I could’ve written about—My art, my emotions plastered on paper! Kitties, the only beings that never judge you from your looks. This wonderful place, with all the wonderful people who make my life miserable day after day! Yet. . . I didn’t write about any of that, so this is all I have. Thanks for the help, colander brain. But would I rather have the brain “people” desire? The one great at living with man-made monsters like deadlines, assignments, but lacks anything new? Anything that’s truly you? I’m fine without that, thanks. Still, if you rip out my brain and stuff me in a white t-shirt and jeans, I’ve become society’s best. A normal person. Someone with normal ideas, normal clothes. Someone who always knows what to say to others, who never makes mistakes. Normal, of course, also refers to the jerks who whisper behind my back but act nice and civilized to my face because it convinces them that they aren’t ruining my life. The people who strut around like the rulers of the world, being mean to anyone different because they don’t work with their grand view of their kingdom. 136 | Unfiltered Me
Imagine, I’m missing out on all of that. But the really sad part is these people are kind, creative, with beautiful minds just as unique as me. But they are an ember of special, of different, and they’ve chosen to smother it with society’s expectations for how you should Look, Think, Dress. The shell built around the ember is a shimmering pearl in the eyes of society, but am I the only one who sees people burying themselves in false ideas? I guess nobody else does see anything wrong. Another reason my brain sticks out like an island in the sea. I guess it’s just one of those things that never gets fixed. Lucky me.
Robin Quirk Highland Park Middle School, Saint Paul | Grade 8 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
Unfiltered Me | 137
Spoken Worry I wasn’t surprised seeing so many nervous and annoyed faces hearing their groans and sighs when they heard we had to perform A self-written poem in front of the whole entire class for our summative I was one of them One of the people who immediately began thinking of what could go wrong the bad things that could happen or even just the bad things that people thought about me Thirty pairs of eyes feel like 30,000 when they’re burning holes in your skin Ears listening to every single stutter and hesitation and “uhm” Silently laughing and judging you for even the littlest of mistakes I wonder if that’s actually true— If people actually think those thoughts those thorny, harsh thoughts But if they are Why should I care? Because I really shouldn’t Yet I do I wish I needed only the poem written down the teacher to read my words instead of hearing my sound But I’m just speaking a poem I’m sure I can do it 138 | Unfiltered Me
Like, I’m just speaking a poem Just go up and do it Like jeez, it’s not that big of a deal Honestly, it’s not that surreal then I imagine it in my head and the thought sinks me down like lead and suddenly I can’t speak anymore and it’s weird because I’ve done this before But I’m here now at the front of the classroom Trying to figure out what to do with my hands Where I’m supposed to look To have good enough eye contact Whether I’m looking up enough from my paper or not If my poem’s too long or too short Because I can’t write every single thing on my mind But sometimes I can’t think of anything What if I’m speaking too quiet or even too loud? Because even though I’m speaking normally I feel like I’m yelling How do I start or end this? What goes in the middle? It’s not organized well enough What even is my topic? How am I supposed to make this poetic— Adding all this stuff without making it sound forced Just dropped in because it’s required And never brought back again Like worrying about reciting this poem Even if it’s less than two minutes of my life and’ll barely affect me in the future (continued) Unfiltered Me | 139
I felt anxious to recite a poem Written by me Yet here I am Projecting my voice Pretending I have confidence Hoping that I’ll make it by faking it But as I approach the end I think Huh That wasn’t as bad as I thought
Solveig Wilson Highland Park Middle School, Saint Paul | Grade 8 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
140 | Unfiltered Me
In My World I See In my world I see not just diamonds but I see people. Some of the people are not grateful For the roof on top of their head and some are. In my world, I see the people who are ungrateful. They are not born ungrateful— They learned how to be ungrateful. In my world I see no monsters, because they are not born. No one in my world is a monster. In my world, I see People, not like the others, but they still have their smiles on their faces. In my world, I see cow, making a sacrifice that can feed about 100 people. So will you be the sacrifice— or will you be the one being fed? In my world, I see people who try to be someone else. So be yourself, so you don’t end up like them, Just be yourself. In my world, I see people quit right when they lose a game. But what they don’t know is that you can learn from your mistakes. As soon as they mess up or lose a game— Don’t be the quitter. Be the winner.
Sven Cabanero Gordon Bailey Elementary, Woodbury | Grade 5 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali Unfiltered Me | 141
All Are Human In Palestine, children are getting bombed. Their hearts remain clear, The fear of not being here Is something no child should fear. In Somalia, a famine is so strong, You can hear the tunes of the stomach Of people walking along. Their deen is something that helps them, During this time, Head on the sahli, Their hearts defined, Life on the line. In Yemen, Children’s dreams are so bright, They light up the night sky In Syria, shattered streets, Children silently scream. Bombs boom, a broken dream. In sorrow. they sway. The deen is something That people hold onto dearly, Like the mothers In Yemen Who hold onto their offspring. Watching the videos on my screen, I’m not able to understand What they think. I want to be able to help them Before they are on the brink Of extinction, Mass destruction.
142 | Unfiltered Me
هرخلااو ايندلا يف
هرخلااو ايندلا يف
When I’m thinking About the kids In Yemen, Palestine, Somalia, and Syria, I start to think about what life really means. “In this life and hereafter”, Is what this phrase means. Hopefully, the children In Palestine, Yemen, Syria, And Somalia, Will see the green Gardens of Paradise. Peace
هرخلااو ايندلا يف
اشنا
Isra Abdi Highland Park Middle School, Saint Paul | Grade 8 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
Unfiltered Me | 143
A Cycle History is A cycle. It goes on and on till we get back to where we were before. History is A lesson, we must learn, we must remember or what happened once will happen again. Years ago, Jews were targeted as the evil in Germany. Today, Immigrants are called dirty aliens. History is A lesson, we must learn, we must remember or what happened once will happen again. Years ago, The rich lived lavishly as the poor starved. Today, Money passes between the hands of billionaires like sand through an hourglass, counting down the days until we have no middle class. History is A lesson, we must learn, we must remember or what happened once will happen again. Years ago, One man told millions they were not allowed in his country. Today, One man does the same. History is A lesson, we must learn, we must remember. So why? Why Are schools being defunded and libraries closing? Why 144 | Unfiltered Me
Are there “journalists” asking for the orange man’s workout plan and social media being restricted? Why still do people refuse? If you Do not learn, if you do not remember, What happened once will happen again. Years ago, Strong countries and educated people stood back and let The Jews be slaughtered. Do you Remember? We cannot deflect responsibility and avoid action. The greedy and rich target The immigrants.Target The women. Target The poor, Target The gay, and prey On the uneducated. They want you afraid. Fear brews hate in bubbling vats of acid. We don’t have time to be passive. We must Learn. We must remember Or what happened once Will happen again!
Mary Jane Hanks Northeast Middle School, Minneapolis | Grade 8 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali Unfiltered Me | 145
Migration Immigrants are like monarch butterflies, they migrate From south to north the journey is far, Like immigrants chasing dreams to reach for the stars Como las mariposas, la vida es hermosa Con sueños en el corazón Ven una vision con mucha pasión Wings of heritage, they migrate We feel like we are locked up in a cage, Repeating a routine over and over again I wonder if one day we will go ahead and break En el cielo de sueño, donde la libertad danza, Immigrantes como mariposas buscando su esperanza Their wings are stories of journeys unbound, Each flight a desire for a new life to be found Like rivers that flow leaving trails behind, In a world full of colors, immigrants and butterflies in harmony entwined Como hojas en el viento, dejando el dolor, Esperando y chambiando para un nuevo lugar a su alrededor Okay, I am done with this poem This is how far I go I think I made some mistakes, but I don’t really care much, though But I know you learn from your mistakes, so let me tell you what I wrote: Some guy comes in my class, tells me what to write Like, who are you? But alright.
146 | Unfiltered Me
So I wrote what others are, even though we all are Let me introduce myself again Hi, I am B. and I am Mex—I–can—not can’t So if you think you can’t, just remember YES. YOU. CAN. B. A. R. Northeast Middle School, Minneapolis | Grade 8 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
Unfiltered Me | 147
Racing Toward Change In circuits bright, where engines roar, A dance of speed, A quest for more. Yet beneath the glam, A truth we find, A tale of progress, But often blind. The roar of cars, A thrilling sound, Yet whispers of the earth abound. Carbon trails in the wake of haste, Reflecting the climate woes we must face. We cheer for drivers, Heroes bold, But wealth divides As stories unfold. In luxury boxes, The elite reside, While struggle persists On the outside. Diversity’s voice, A missing tune In a world Where change must come soon. From the track To the streets, We see inequities That must cease to be.
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So as we watch the flag unfold, Let’s strive for more In this fast-paced world. For in the heart of every race Lies a chance for change, A brighter place. Let’s drive for justice, Sustainability too, In a place that reflects The world we pursue. Together, We can shift the gears And race towards a future Without fear.
Lisa Ruiz Northeast Middle School, Minneapolis | Grade 8 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
Unfiltered Me | 149
Untitled The Ocean makes me feel happy but the Ocean feels hurt Due to the trash that Is hurting its sea animals It’s being treated like a Black Man in the 1960s, Unfair Garbage is just put into the ocean CLANG goes the metal pot that fell off the boat SPLASH when the plastic bottles hit the water It’s UNFAIR Because— The Ocean loves us The Ocean loves us The Ocean loves us But we need to love him back The ocean is like a calm breeze On a Hot summer day The kids love to play the ocean Is there for us, Like a guardian watching its child Now we need to be there for him The soft, cool feeling of the ocean, It Is peaceful and nice, Like a cool breeze in the night. The breeze, The smell of your mom’s cooking
150 | Unfiltered Me
The ocean feels like it’s being kicked By a bunch of bullies Don’t worry, ocean You’re safe with me Because The Ocean loves us The Ocean loves us The Ocean loves us And we love it too
Ace Abron Fridley Middle School, Fridley | Grade 5 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
Unfiltered Me | 151
Genome Gambit Among our board of life, How our pieces move and play in every which way Make up how our body works and how it develops. Each piece serves a different unique purpose among our board. The King—like the nucleus of your board, Weak yet grand, Guiding each and every piece like a steady hand, Making sure every piece is activated. And without him we’d be devastated. The Queen—like the dominant allele on your board, The stronger piece that, on its own, Will always beat the other weaker pieces with grace. Unless they work together, As in, the only way that recessive alleles can win Is by finding their place. The Rooks are like the recessive alleles of your board, Still very strong and true. While on their own weaker than the Queen. If they have a good plan they stand hand in hand, They will nearly always beat the dominant clan. The Bishops—like the chromosomes, They come as a pair, you see, Working together in harmony And can make a great contribution to your internal board.
152 | Unfiltered Me
The Knights—like DNA strands of your board, Twisting and turning every which way, And when used correctly, They can really sting. The Pawns—like the offspring of the board, So small and new, They can only move one square at a time. Yet they push through. And as they continue to go Along those 64 squares, When they reach the end, just watch them grow.
Grand Dunham Sanford Middle School, Minneapolis | Grade 7 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
Unfiltered Me | 153
What Is It Like to Be Native? Being native means smudging to get all bad spirits away Being native means loving your culture, Being native means people assume that you’re doing the worst Being native means loving to dance Being native means people think all natives are the same Being native means loving the smell of sweetgrass, sage, cedar tee Being native means hearing stories from your elders from when they were younger Being native means going to more funerals than weddings, birthdays, or parties Being native means having to worry about your surroundings, so you don’t end up missing Being native means growing up faster than others Being native means people assuming that you’re Mexican, Asian, or even Arab. Being native means people judging your culture Being native means love being at powwows Being native means having to learn your language when you should already know it Being native means getting treated differently Being native means growing up with your cousins, grandparents, and other family members Being native means you can sometimes grow up in a bad environment, but still be proud Being native means putting out a spirit plate for your relatives that passed Being native means singing behind the drum and playing the drum Being native means it isn’t about your blood, it’s about your ancestors and where you come from, and what tribe you come from
154 | Unfiltered Me
Being native means loving the food from your culture Being native doesn’t mean all these things It can look different and mean something different to other cultures And even to family members, and it’s what tribe you come from, So being native doesn’t mean all these things, I’m just saying how being native is for me And my family and where I’m coming from. Barbie Desjarlais Sanford Middle School, Minneapolis | Grade 7 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
Unfiltered Me | 155
Not Your Paradise Don’t call my island paradise If you only see the beaches. If you only come for the sun But close your eyes to the blackouts, The poverty, The pain. You sip cocktails Where my people boil water to survive. You tan under the sun That scorched homes during Maria, Then left them in silence While the world looked away. You call it “vacation,” I call it colonized. Airbnbs rise While mi abuela’s rent climbs. Streets renamed, Locals displaced, And you take pictures like you own it. But this is not YOUR paradise. This is our home. Our roots run deeper than your dollar signs. Our music is louder than your gentrified silence. You post “Puerto Rico se levanta” But did nothing when we fell. You wear our flag on your chest But don’t carry our weight on your back. We are not your photo-op, Your exotic escape, Your discounted dream.
156 | Unfiltered Me
We are the children of resistance, The echoes of Taino blood, The rhythm of ancestors Beating louder than your money ever will. So next time you step on our soil, Learn the name of the land. Respect the people who bleed it. Understand that beauty without justice Is just another form of theft. This is not your paradise. This is Puerto Rico. And we’re still standing, Not your comfort, But for our truth.
Alondra Diaz Roseau Secondary, Roseau | Grade 9 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
Unfiltered Me | 157
The Rainbow We Follow We follow the rainbow: Red—Orange—Yellow—Green—Blue—Purple—Pink—Black— Brown—Gray—And White—LGBTQIA2S+ To all of my friends that follow the rainbow, do not let people who do not know you as you do tell you how to feel Our genetics tell us that in order to have children and pass traits down, We must be hetero. But our families can be anything Made of anyone A fabulous, fantastic, family Our alleles tell us how to be, Like the people in our government trying to tell us how to be But they should know that love and gender cannot be controlled, They are free, just like the rainbow We who follow the rainbow identify with many different colors and people Like the chromosomes, DNA, and genes coursing through all humans’ vein The flag that waves in our hearts is not red white and blue The flag that waves in OUR hearts is a free, Multi, Techni, Beautifully colored flag How the rainbow does not follow norms, just like us who follow the rainbow We are an open community, there to be how we are: No filter No censor 158 | Unfiltered Me
We who follow the rainbow have been the recessive group for hundreds of years Now, in a new generation, Love will be dominant We think of: Homo, Demi Trans Bi Nonbinary Could what people and stereotypes think of us be wrong? Could the cells and DNA that tell our bodies how to be, be wrong? Could the bodies that we are born into be wrong? But what if I’m wrong? Or am I the problem? This is what we ask ourselves This is what society has made us think We who follow the rainbow are just like our hetero, cis friends But we who follow the rainbow have been kicked from our jobs, We have been hurt The people who try to silence us are trying, trying, trying But guess what? I have always read and known that, in the end LOVE WINS
Millie Whitcraft Knox Sanford Middle School, Minneapolis | Grade 7 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
Unfiltered Me | 159
Changes It was August, me, a seven-year-old about to enter a new life from the one I knew. Up until the age of seven, I was raised as an only child. My parents were mine, with unwavering attention. Grandparents would spoil me, and I would enjoy the sweet life they all provided for me. I believe I was a nice kid, happy and content with what the days would bring me, or rather what adventures I would have out and about with the only family I had ever known, the one I never thought would change. One day, I noticed a change coming, fast approaching. I remember distinctly when it happened. I was twirling in one my dresses my mother made sure I had. She loved dressing me up like a doll, which I loved myself, and I was eating a strawberry lollipop my father had given me after a long shift at work. I was happy, reluctant in the bubble of my colorful world, unbothered by the world surrounding me. The spring air filled the home, and I had my imagination racing with new ideas of what to play, what to sing, and what to dance along to. That’s when it hit me. Something strange, something of consciousness entered, an instinct perhaps. I remember soon after, my parents explained that someone new would soon join our family, that I was going to be a big sister. So many questions bubbled in my head. Do they mean I’m going to be replaced? Is it only for a couple of days? What does this mean for me? Not world-shattering, but mind-opening. I shrugged it off and continued about, until that summer day. Days, weeks, months passed, and things were becoming more real. Then suddenly, for a little girl who has never known any different, I found myself waiting in a hospital.
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Emotions washed over me all at once the entirety of the day, excitement, nervousness, and anxiousness all mixed into one emotion in the best way possible. Then finally the moment came where I met the one that would change me, my whole life as I know it—my sister. What was this? There in front of me, a tiny baby in a soft white blanket, wrapped up gently, peering up at me in the living room I had played in every day before she arrived. I loved her instantly. But that older sister instinct washed over me all too quickly for me to truly comprehend. I remember later that week, the emotion was so very strong that tears filled my eyes. My father understood and saw me and gave me the warmest hug. I believe now that I had thought in a way that I had been abruptly pushed out of my once-true reality. That I couldn’t get used to it. Thankfully, my parents comforted me and told me they loved me and that fact would never change. I understood that their love was never taken, it only will grow. Later on, my family welcomed a little brother, and then another little brother. As time has passed and I matured, my life has evolved in a way that my seven-year-old self could never have imagined. I learned to be their leader, their friend, their safe space, their sister. I am so very thankful for my family. Having the blessing of being their sister has taught me a lot. I have learned many lessons and have lived many memories that will stay with me forever. I can’t wait for what the future holds for all of us. I was able to become the person I am today, and I wish nothing but the greatest for my darling siblings. Giselle Rios Le Sueur-Henderson High School, Le Sueur | Grade 11 Creative Writing Residency Teaching Artist: Nicholas Pawlowski
Unfiltered Me | 161
Look at Her Eyes If my eyes could talk they would ask Why is everyone so unaware? Why can’t they just rotate their slimy eyes To face the front? Why can’t they stop being aa… Confused If moving your eyes is impossible Why can’t you just be responsible? If my eyes could talk They would ask, Why are you staring me down Like I’m a silly stupid clown? Are my eye bags waving to you? Is it smoke flooding my face? Well newsflash! You’re at school glaring at me And you need to get to class. If my eyes could talk They would ask Why are you picking at others? Baby, baby, baby oh no! Why are you saying “She’s skin and bones” When you can close your eyes And stay in your zone. If my eyes could talk They would ask Why aren’t you in class Stop standing here being a dumb…(ass) Dummy You’re blocking the halls Get moving because I’m appalled.
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But wait, My eyes can talk! They’re telling YOUR eyes To be wise. They’re telling YOUR body, To not be snobby. They want you to listen, Listen around the rooom, you can hear all the eyes telling everyone to be silent They want you to be quiet Look at my eyes, or don’t. Good-bye.
Vannyva Kem Highland Park Middle School, Saint Paul | Grade 8 Spoken Word Residency Youth Spoken Word Showcase Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
Unfiltered Me | 163
Second Chance Cloudy, dusty, hazy, air— My lungs yearning for a breath of fresh air. Waves crashing, running, ripping, through the towns. Bursting through ruining everything in its path. The world crying for a second chance. The forest fires fury roars— Jumping tree to tree till they all tower down. Boom! Trees hitting the ground like a gunshot. Squirrels jump, birds fly, foxes run, shaken and stirred as the smoke hunts them down like prey. Fire creeps on tiptoes, through people homes— windows shatter, fire alarms scream. People jump from their bed
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See this artist in performance.
As tears run down their cheeks not knowing what may lie ahead. Thoughts scared, scrambled, wondering if they may also get a second chance. Stars vanishing, disappearing, from the night sky. Now all I have are the city lights shining bright— Piercing through my window like a harsh sun. Where stars once whispered city lights scream. When I close my eyes the light still shines. When I look out the window all I see is a bare sky. And I wonder if we can all just get a second chance.
Thea Berg Highland Park Middle School, Saint Paul | Grade 8 Spoken Word Residency Youth Spoken Word Showcase Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
Unfiltered Me | 165
Peace on Earth You sing it in Church, You see it on the pages that people hold so high. Peace on Earth But is there? Since birth? There is hate, fear and horror. For peace you gotta pray. Your color, height, hair and eyes. Do you not hear the cries…? I see my friends have to drop their bags at the store. But not me— not when I walk through the door. Black, Somali, Hmong even in the ghetto they get strung. Hidden racism in a place called a community. Wars, guns, bombs and gas. It suffocates us slowly. We didn’t start the fire! Except we did. We are addicted, conflicted, doing what is predicted. Stop driving, they say, but it’s cold. Stop using styrofoam, but that’s all they have at the gas station. We slide down the slippery slope. Nope. Don’t discuss this, we aren’t ready yet. It makes us uncomfortable…
166 | Unfiltered Me
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Mother Earth is uncomfortable. The ash is suffocating her pores. She can’t breathe. Her animal kingdom, her children are being put in cages. We take, we manipulate. But… There are moments. Peace on Earth. The woman that lends her shoulder to her tired neighbor. You see the boy that helps bring in the groceries for the old couple across the street. He pulls trash out of a reef. He sees a great color coming back. She stands on a track, hoping a little girl is watching the TV. What a wonderful world… Step by step, we will get there. But you know this. The question is, what are you going to do about it? What’s your bit?
Eleanor Tietjen Camden High School, Minneapolis | Grade 9 Spoken Word Residency Youth Spoken Word Showcase Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
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America America is a gun hidden in a duffel bag beneath a desk, anxious to shoot. The owner sits in silence, listening to his teacher drone on and on The class is quiet, Outside the window the sky is clear and dark The sound of wind can be heard Through the thin panes of glass The clock tick, tick, ticks, counting the seconds until the lockdown “drill”. America is a wallet, useless and empty in one man’s hand as he digs through it The soft leather brushing his skin as he prays for a loose bill to reveal itself. In another man’s hand, it sits fat and heavy, ever growing. The first man is tired but angry Why should he have to tolerate The world’s unfairness As the other man sits unbothered and ignorant America is a phone screen, on it, a finger scrolls aimlessly through endless photos of slim waists and clear skin. Reflected on it is a pair of eyes, Bloodshot and puffy, because the reflection in the mirror refused to look the same way. Her eyes ache and her head hurts Why can’t her waist be that small Her features that delicate Her hair be that flowy Why can’t she just accept That she’s just not built that way 168 | Unfiltered Me
And that that’s okay? America is a chainsaw, cutting away layers of life. Cutting through the bark as leaves fall and roots tremble. Surrounding it is miles of land, garnished millions of fallen branches and stumps. America is a positive pregnancy test that she didn’t see coming, all because of that one night at homecoming. Her heart pounds like a drum What will her family say? She thinks back to that day When she said no, but he heard yes, and now she has to suffer in spite of the protests? And yet… Despite all of this Despite its poisoned rivers and fallen forests Despite its corrupted society and distorted standards And its depressed teens and hungry stomachs (continued)
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America is friendship, and gifts and laughter. America is holidays, fireworks and food, its music and movies and memories and more. That red, white and blue, this flag we pledge our allegiance to, is here because of the people, with their star-spangled dreams. This country is our downfall, our freedom, our captor and our pride.
Hazel Grossman Highland Park Middle School, Saint Paul | Grade 8 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
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Section 5:
Dreams with No Expiration
Dreams with No Expiration | 171
Kendall and the Three Wizards Once upon a time, there were three wizards who lived in a cave. These were your ordinary, everyday wizards. They made some piping hot pizza, but it was too hot. So, they hopped onto their brooms and went for a little ride while it cooled. Meanwhile, Kendall was walking and saw something strange. “Hmm, that’s strange,” she said. She kept walking and spotted a cool cave. “Ooh, a cave!” she exclaimed. She walked into the cave, not knowing it was home to wizards. When she got inside, she was in shock. “Whoa! The whole place has furniture in it!” She looked around and saw a table with pizza on it. “Yummy pizza!” she said, still in shock. But she was too hungry to realize it was the wizards’ pizza. She tried a bite of the first slice. “Eww, there’s pineapple on this pizza!” she said, spitting it out. She tried the next slice. “Why is there no cheese on this pizza?” she asked, spitting it out again. Then she tried the third slice. “This piece is just right,” she said, and gobbled it all up. Next, she was covered in pizza, so she decided to take a bath. There were three bathtubs. She tried the first one. “Brrr! This water is too cold!” she cried, leaping out. She went into the next one. “This soap smells gross,” she said, leaping out again. She tried the third one. “Just right,” she said. Next, she was tired, so she went into the bedroom and saw three beds. She lay on the first one. “Why is this pillow so hard?” she asked, leaping out.
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She tried the second bed. “Why is this blanket so cold?” she asked, leaping out again. She tried the third bed. “Just right,” she said, and fell asleep. Then the wizards came home. They walked into the cave and all at once shouted, “SOMEONE ATE MY PIZZA!” They went into the bathroom. “Why is the floor all wet?” one asked. Then they went into the bedroom and saw Kendall. They all gathered around her, pointing their wands at her. Kendall eventually woke up and saw the wizards standing around her. “Who are you guys?” she asked. The wizards replied, “Who are you, and why are you in our house?” Kendall said, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t know. How can I make it up to you?” One wizard said, “You can clean our cave.” Kendall said, “Okay, can you just give me one of your wands?” One wizard said, “Sure.” Kendall grabbed the wand, waved it, and said a spell to clean the cave. Then she ran out of the cave and never came back. Kendall Reese Tonka Online | Grade 4 Storytelling Residency Teaching Artist: Katie Knutson
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Wings of Swift and Flames In the floating city of Aerwyn, where islands drifted through the clouds tethered by chains of lightning, a young sky smith named Lira forged wings from starlight. Everyone said humans couldn’t fly—not without spells, not without dragons—but Lira wasn’t interested in what people said. On the night of the Skyfall Festival, with thunder rumbling below and stars blinking above, she strapped on her wings and leapt from the edge. For a heartbeat, nothing. Then the wind caught her, the wings sang, and she soared, leaving behind the chains that held her. Lira flew higher than she’d ever dreamed—past the drifting isles and their golden spires, beyond the reach of Aerwyn’s storm-chains. But as dawn broke, she saw something no one—skyborn or not—had ever spoken of or seen before. Before her was a second city, hidden beneath the clouds, built on titanic roots of crystal and stone that shimmered like water. Drawn by a pull she couldn’t explain, Lira descended. The city was silent, ancient, overgrown with glowing moss and statues of winged beings. At its center stood a great tree, its leaves made of mirrored glass. When she touched it, the reflection staring back wasn’t hers—but a version of herself, older, with silver in her hair and fire in her eyes. Behind her, the roots began to pulse with light. The forgotten city was not dead—it was waiting. Of course, if anyone found out what happened on this night—the third of September, a cool night unlike the others in Aerwyn, but not cool for long—the fire seen in her eyes had lit up like there was more. Maybe this was just a mistake. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to be here. As the fire grew, so did her ego to continue onward. The fire eventually burned out—but only after hours of walking. 174 | Dreams with No Expiration
Her footsteps felt weighted, and her shadow felt light. Her path kept disappearing until she was no longer there anymore. She turned back and noticed another path forming. “Follow,” said her curious voice. And there she was—back in Aerwyn. As the others noticed her return, they all had strange expressions. And she had one too. One of them spoke up and asked, “Why do you look so... different?” Her hair was silver and shiny, and her eyes lit up again—into flames. Yael Muchtar St. Paul Academy, Saint Paul | Grade 6 Creative Writing Residency Teaching Artist: May Lee-Yang
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Today I Am a Cloud Today I am a cloud. I feel like I’m drifting along the sky. When I’m hungry, I eat the rain from other clouds. I want to run on the grassy ground. I will fly above the highest trees. Today I am a cloud. Shay Leonard Gleason Lake Elementary, Plymouth | Grade 2 Poetry Residency Teaching Artist: Joyce Sidman
Today I Am a Plant Today I am a plant. I am quiet as a rock. I need sunlight. I love to drink. I love to stay still. I will devour sunlight. I want to make seeds. I don’t want to be dinner! Today I am a plant.
Leonard Johnson Gleason Lake Elementary, Plymouth | Grade 2 Poetry Residency Teaching Artist: Joyce Sidman
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Today I Am a Butterfly Today I am a butterfly. I open shimmery wings and glide across the warm, winding breeze. I rest on a whooshing tree. After a busy day, I gently rest on a flower and suck the juicy nectar from the flower. Today I am a butterfly.
Aditri Mukherji Gleason Lake Elementary, Plymouth | Grade 2 Poetry Residency Teaching Artist: Joyce Sidman
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The Night Is a Soft Wool Blanket The night is a soft wool blanket. The moon is the ball of yarn that made the wool blanket. The stars are the small exotic designs that were so carefully sewed on in the field of darkness.
Raaga Ram Gleason Lake Elementary, Plymouth | Grade 2 Poetry Residency Teaching Artist: Joyce Sidman
The Night Is a Beautiful River The night is a deep blue river. The moon is a tiny island scattered with palm trees. The stars are the colorful fish swimming there. In the beautiful river the waves crash down and cause more waves.
Sadie Stuurmans Gleason Lake Elementary, Plymouth | Grade 2 Poetry Residency Teaching Artist: Joyce Sidman
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How It Feels to Write a Poem It feels like you’re thinking about everything, about food, about friends, what you look like, what you’re wearing, your hair, the weather, the seasons, feelings, people, toys, family. But especially about your poem. You think so hard that your brain almost explodes. But for others it’s the opposite— so easy, they could do it with their eyes closed. Poetry is terrific. You say it. You hear it. You feel it. The power is incredible. Poetry is fun. You can say anything in it. Make it rhyme, Make it happy or sad, And have a LOT of emotions in it. You could even make it into a song. Poetry might be tough, or enjoyable, but poetry is amazing. I thought this was fun. That’s how writing a poem feels— AMAZING!!! H. T. St. Anthony Park Elementary, Saint Paul | Grade 5 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali Dreams with No Expiration | 179
A Year’s Turning The cotton candy clouds dance in the sky to a sweet summer serenade, pink lemonade, pool days, children lining up at the ice cream truck, 4:00 pm, Sundays. Stars scatter across the sky like flip-flops scatter the dock as we dip our feet into the glistening water and feel the sand between our toes. The sun goes to bed, and the moon comes out to play, We start a fire, get warmed up, and share stories under the Pegasus. And it’s autumn now. The leaves decorate the wet pavement like a painter paints his canvas. The air is crisp, transitioning into the harsh winter to come. Children dress up for Halloween, running house to house and across the streets, “Trick or treat!” The trees start to lose their leaves and fly away into the world with the help of the gentle breeze. Winter comes. The snow on the ground is as white as paper, hiding the dry grass like a blanket. I shiver and sniffle as the snowflakes dance around me. I go outside to hang the lights but even on a ladder I have no fright. Now the melted snow on the ground is a dirty slushie. Spring is here. The tree buds are blooming. Splish-splash—I hear the rain. It rains all night. It rains all day.
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I jump in the puddles with my big rain boots. Puddle so big I might drown—but at least the flowers are pretty this time around. I hear the birds singing, the sky is blue, the wind is light, “What a beautiful view.” Harlyn Mack Highland Park Middle School, Saint Paul | Grade 8 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
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I See a Doughnut I see trees, I see lights, I see people flying kites. But one particular thing that catches my eye— is doughnuts. The smell wafts through the air sigh Fresh-baked sugar. Right now, I don’t care if people say I’m “Obsessed.” Doughnuts are like heaven in the real world. Doughnuts make pies look like failed inventions. Doughnuts are fresh-baked sugar. Put things on top—you are the boss. Put cinnamon, or chocolate sauce on top. But, whatever you do... It is fresh-baked sugar All of the sudden— An excited doughnut arrives, ready to be eaten. The smell of fresh-baked sugar gets to my lungs. I take a big bite and—it’s warm. My tongue is full of joy It’s soft. I am no longer hungry. It’s love at first bite. From chocolate to cake to strawberry frost, Cinnamon, or sugar or none.
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From fresh, to cold, to barely still warm, From all doughnuts—to one. I will still savor the flavor, Enjoy from the heart, It’s like pure light. And that’s just a piece of the doughnuts delight. I see books. I see markers. I see you. I see me. I see buildings and schools— Whatever people can be. I see truths and I see lies. One particular thing that catches my eyes— My mouth gets watery. My eyes get teary. Can you guess why? I see a doughnut
Seraphine Courtney St. Anthony Park Elementary, Saint Paul | Grade 5 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
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Story Block I stare at the blank white, unused page, My head, almost as blank As the white snow-colored rectangle. Not a single mark marks this crisp clean sheet of paper. Not a single slight fold or a puncture…. but I wish it did. It would at least be SOMETHING. Ideas? Gone. Inspiration? Nonexistent. Hmmm…well, I can try to think of some ideas... How about a story about a brunette girl with a generic personality and social issues, on a journey to attempt to gain popularity? Sigh. That’s been done over twelve hundred times. A person with magical powers, going to high school? A magical family heirloom? A secret universe with sentient... Water….bottles? Magic….toaster pastries? A, uh….mustard heist?? Ugh. Thinking is hard. Everything’s so unoriginal, been done before... It’s like there’s nothing not written! All of my ideas are useless... Wait, I got it! A story about an alive chair! I know it sounds vague, but Lemme just look at u— 12,323 results?! 184 | Dreams with No Expiration
Okay...maybe not. Ugh. I need a break…or maybe seven.…or seventeen. Wait! I have the perfect idea! I’ll just use ChatGPT and have it write my story for me! I can just edit a few things here and there... Okay... “really good story” JERALD AND THE MAUVE CRAYON?! JERRY POTTER?! Urgh—this is not gonna work… This is so hard. I can’t think of anything... HOLD ON!! I think I have an idea! Nobody’s done it before, I’m sure! Nobody on this planet has thought of such a creative idea! Surely this idea is 100% unique!! I’ll make a book about…. NOTHING! ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!! (I know I’m a genius)
Sylvia Turk-Themes St. Anthony Park Elementary, Saint Paul | Grade 5 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
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Ode to Cartoons Turning on the television to see a colorful, lovable character on the screen of magic— and see a sponge who lives in a pineapple, a mouse with a recognizable voice, A duck with a lisp, And many more. All the voice actors like Tom Kenny and Mel Blanc— This is my ode to cartoons.
Jarrett Hammer Red Lake County Central School, Oklee | Grade 7 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Desdamona
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Art Is What You Are Art is what you are. It’s like what you want to be. Art is what you are. It’s like when the wind blows. Art is what you are. It’s what your spirit is. Art is what you are. It’s how you perform in sports and in front of crowds. Art! You might not like it, but It’s what you want to be. It’s what makes you be yourself. Art is what you like. It’s what makes you and me different. Art is your future. Yourself is art. Your emotions are pieces of art. If you’re not good at art, you will be better the next day. Art is what makes everything. It’s like when the birds fly and the dolphins swim. It’s what made the tigers hunt and the lily pads float. Art is how we all learn. Art is who you are. It’s what you want to be. It’s your destiny. Your name is ART!
Ryker Skogerbo Meadowbrook Elementary, Golden Valley | Grade 5 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali Dreams with No Expiration | 187
The Grammar Police I am the captain of the grammar police. Realize that I said, I am the captain of the— not me am. I am the captain of the grammar police. If my friends and I were hanging out, I wouldn’t say, “Me and my friends are hanging out,” Because me isn’t hanging out— I am! I am the captain of the grammar police. Messing up grammar? It’s like when someone snaps in your face to get your attention. If you have something to say—just say it! I don’t care if what you say I disagree with, I just want you to say it RIGHT. If you don’t know how to say what you want to say— ASK. I am the captain of the grammar police. I want to know when a person says something that is grammatically incorrect, they will be put in the slammer— for the grammar. Even what I just said wasn’t grammatically correct. I should’ve said: “They will be put in the slammer for their grammar.” Oops!
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I am the captain of the grammar police and it’s hard. You know why it’s hard? Well... How can I catch all the people who make miscommunications? Or when English is your first language— and you don’t know how to speak it? That’s why... I am the captain of the grammar police.
S. M. Meadowbrook Elementary, Golden Valley | Grade 5 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
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Drawing I pick up a pencil. Doodles spew out of my pencil onto the paper like charcoal on snow. Every idea sprouts another as my mind goes wild, Blocking out all the things Mr. Pass says. As my grades scream and cry, I draw to my heart’s content. It’s like my own hieroglyphs. I’ve always wanted to draw like my mom— Her paintbrush pollinates the canvas like a bee, causing beautiful flowers of art to grow. Deep in my chromosomes, I can tell that my mom’s dominant genotype was creativity. My mom, my grandpa, my uncle, my aunt, my mom’s whole family. All with their own charm. My mind is like a train on the way to a place that doesn’t exist. It writes its own ideas. And yours can too. Let your mind be free. Don’t let life bring you down, Pick yourself up and draw. Life is complex, like a DNA strand, Like the intertwining chromosomes, Like the Mariana Trench, Deep in the ocean—you never know what’s down there, And you can’t predict what happens in life.
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It’s hard to describe, like asexual reproduction. When my parents got divorced, I kept drawing. When all I could hear was arguing, I kept drawing. When I couldn’t—and still can’t—sleep Because I have to move back and forth, house to house... I kept drawing. The sound of the pencil on the paper— Drawing.
Julez Noel Sanford Middle School, Minneapolis | Grade 7 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
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Creativity Is a Power Creativity, “the use of imagination or original ideas, especially in the use of artistic work”
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At least, that’s what Oxford Dictionary says. But for those of us who have been drenched in this thing, this power that Oxford says uses imagination, know that it’s more than just a use. It’s a power— Like a flame that can burn right through you and take control of who’ll ever get in its path. Creativity is a power. A power. An ability—just like the ones Superman, Hulk, Spiderman, and Thor— BAM! used to make the world cheer and exclaim in enthusiastic, extreme joy and excitement. Creativity is a power. A power similar to the one Loki used to invade NYC and Joker used to torture poor civilians and, Thanos used to disband the band... and, and, and— took theirs down the other path. So when it comes time for you— you—to grab that power... 192 | Dreams with No Expiration
The power that Picasso, Van Gough, Da Vinci, and Kahlo used to show what beauty really is to the eyes. And that Drake, Presley, Jackson, Swift, and Sinatra had—and made air dance. Whether you take it to the stage like Shakespeare, or to the big screen like Spielberg... Creativity is within all of us, and all of us have it. But it’s up to us— on how we use it.
Matteo Walter Highland Park Middle School, Saint Paul | Grade 8 Spoken Word Residency Youth Spoken Word Showcase Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
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A Poem About Nothing How do you write a poem about nothing? Nothing doesn’t exist, right? People say water tastes like nothing But how can you taste nothing if it’s the last thing you taste? “What’s wrong?” some people ask. Most answer, “nothing.” But how can it be nothing if you’re hiding cuts? “What are you doing?” others ask. “Nothing,” you tell them. But how can you do nothing when there are pills in your hand? “What happened?” is usually their last question. “Nothing,” no one answers. But how can it be nothing when you’re lying on the floor? And now, there is nothing. No more questions are asked. Nothing you’d answer anyway. But it was something, or you wouldn’t be nothing. People can’t see nothing. People can’t feel nothing. People can’t save nothing. Maybe that’s why it was always your answer.
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So what are you now? Nothing? But you are still something, Even when you’re gone. You’re a feeling, a touch, a song. You’re a thought, a distant memory, a lesson that those who asked questions will learn from, a lesson that when people say “nothing,” they will know it is something. You will always be something, because nothing can’t exist, right?
Caitlyn Winkler Roseau Secondary, Roseau | Grade 9 Spoken Word Residency Teaching Artist: Frank Sentwali
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The Wise One There once was a boy who lived in the village called Wyverborn. This village has had a tradition for over five thousand years. When a boy becomes a young man, he must go into the most sacred cave at the base of the tallest mountain in the land and find the Leaf of Prosperity. Only the Wise One knows where this leaf is, as every man who has passed the test must hold an oath of silence, otherwise, bad karma will fall upon them. There was just one problem. Every time he went near the cave, he would hear a treacherous grumble inside. Not only that, but he saw a huge shadow on the back wall. There had to be a monster in there. How could he possibly muster up the courage to go inside? One day, his peers brought up the conversation. “Hey, you know you can’t stall forever, right?” one of them told him. “Yeah! You’re going to be left behind if you don’t do it by your 18th birthday! No one wants that~” another one piped up with a snicker. The boy felt ashamed. “I know, I know! It’s just that…” He trailed off. He didn’t want to tell them he was scared, when everyone else went through the trial so easily. “Can’t you guys tell me what to do?” “Sorry, no can do. They say it’s a unique journey for everyone.” Unique for everyone…? He pondered the idea. When he was with his father at the dinner table, he let out a sigh, looking down. “What’s wrong, son?” his father asked. “I still can’t pass my trial. What’s wrong with me? I can’t even go inside the cave.” The boy clenched his fists in frustration. His father gave him a soft smile. “I understand what you are going through. I was just like you once.”
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“Really?” He relaxed his hands. “I was.” his father reassured him. “Listen, son. The next time you go near the cave, close your eyes. Though you may not know exactly where to go or what awaits you, use the wall to guide your way until the Wise One finds you.” “Close my eyes…?” The boy thought about it for a moment. “You can do this, I know you can. You’ve always been the bravest in the village from the start.” The boy scoffed. “You’re just saying that.” “At least try. Even the bravest people get afraid,” his father said. The next morning, the boy peered into that cave and saw that menacing shadow again. His legs shook, but he closed his eyes, remembering what his father advised him to do. He took a couple of weak steps into the cave, and braced himself, ready to turn back at a moment’s notice. A couple of feet in, he heard a “mew” at his feet. He flinched, but took a deep breath, wanting to make his father proud. Opening one eye, and then the other, he was shocked. It was just a tiny cat. A tiny spotted cat with bright yellow eyes. “Are you… the Wise One?” The boy looked around in confusion, then realized that the cave was so dark that it made the cat’s shadow a hundred times bigger than it actually was. “I am,” the little feline spoke. “Woah.” The Wise One then led the way through a series of passages until the boy spotted a golden, glowing leaf lodged in a rift of stones—The Leaf of Prosperity! (continued)
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He was grateful that he finally made it. “Thank you, Wise One.” “No, you’re responsible for your success. I have been observing you for days, and you were finally able to face your fears,” the cat meowed. “I feel foolish now,” the boy chuckled. “Go back to your village now, and say nothing of what has happened or what I have said to you, or else you will suffer the curse from the gods.” He swiftly nodded, and happily went on his way, leaf in hand. As he walked off, he realized that it wasn’t nearly as terrifying as he had thought. All he had to do was take the first steps in. It wasn’t the leaf that made him feel as if he were now a man, it was his newfound courage. He didn’t ever think of his father’s idea at first. Thank you, father. He thought to himself. I did it!
Anita Depuydt Le Sueur-Henderson High School, Le Sueu | Grade 11 Creative Writing Residency Teaching Artist: Nicholas Pawlowski
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Universe Awakes Verse 1 I want to fly with a shooting star Reach out and touch the sky and fall into another galaxy Where the fish are flying by Chorus Dreaming of a place far from this world In a place where I belong Where my heart takes flight and my soul awakes Where the universe becomes my song Verse 2 I want to eat on Jupiter Sing with space squirrels on the sun Dance with the aliens on the UFOS Where the moon spins round and round Chorus Dreaming of a place far from this world In a place where I belong Where my heart takes flight and my soul awakes Where the universe becomes my song Ms. Frischmon et. al. Classes (Ms. Frischmon, Mr. Seipel, Ms. Faragher, Ms. Glass, Ms. Sohns, Ms. Nelson, Ms. Floersch) Le Sueur-Henderson Elementary, Le Sueur | Grades K–4 Songwriting Residency Teaching Artist: Kashimana Ahua
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2024–2025 Index by Student Writer A., F. Community of Peace Academy 48 Abdi, Isra Highland Park Middle 142 Abron, Ace Fridley Middle 150 Ms. Austin’s Class St. Anthony Park Elementary 83 B., A. Roseau Secondary 78 Bay, Thessayla Creative Arts Secondary 32 Bemis, Beckett St. Paul Academy – Lower 9 Berg, Thea Highland Park Middle 164 Bigaouette et. al. Le Sueur-Henderson Elementary 21 Breckenridge, Layne Meadowbrook Elementary 5 Bulman, Zoe Meadowbrook Elementary 3 Cabanero, Sven Gordon Bailey Elementary 141 Cobenais, Sloane Highland Park Middle 54 Coburn, Lydia Fridley Middle School 62 Courtney, Seraphine St. Anthony Park Elementary 182 Mr. Crosby’s St. Anthony Park Elementary 84 Danielson, Emma Bollinger St. Paul Academy – Lower 8 Depuydt, Anita Le Sueur-Henderson Middle School 196 Desjarlais, Barbie Sanford Middle 154 Diaz, Alondra Roseau Secondary 156 Drayna, Lyla Valley View Middle 38 Dunham, Grand Sanford Middle 152 Eischens et. al. Le Sueur-Henderson Elementary 14 Elfert, Mikelle Gordon Bailey Elementary 13 Erickson, Leah Creative Arts Secondary 97 F., J. Anoka Middle School for the Arts 106 Ferris, B Sanford Middle 70 Flynn, Matilda Highland Park Middle 52 Ms. Frischmon et. al. Le Sueur-Henderson Elementary 199 Grossman, Hazel Highland Park Middle School 168 Ms. Gupton’s Class Le Sueur-Henderson Elementary 11 H., J. Creative Arts Secondary 96 H., L. Roseau Secondary 90 Hallaway, Mylana Valley View Middle 44 Hallie, Preston Roseau Secondary 16 Hammer, Jarrett Red Lake County Central High 186 Hanks, Mary Jane Northeast Middle 144 Hanna, Edie St. Paul Academy - Lower 24 Hess, Ayden Roseau Secondary 78 Hoover, Duke Gordon Bailey Elementary 34 Hortenbach-Devine, Brock Le Sueur-Henderson Middle 131 Indices | 201
Hughes, Maizie Highland Park Middle 110 Ingber, Max Meadowbrook Elementary 5 J., P. Roseau Elementary 93 Johnson, Leonard Gleason Lake Elementary 176 Jones, Josie Fridley Middle School 114 K., B. Red Lake County Central High 61 Kannapiran, Addie St. Paul Academy - Lower 87 Kem, Vannyva Highland Park Middle 162 Kemnitz, Rowan Meadowbrook Elementary 19 Kirchgessner, Maesen Northeast Middle 57 Knox, Millie Whitecraft Sanford Middle 158 Koch, Luca St. Paul Academy - Lower 10 Mr. Kyrin’s Class Le Sueur-Henderson Elementary 92 Lee, Ariel Community of Peace Academy 46 Leonard, Shay Gleason Lake Elementary 176 Levy, Rihanna East Ridge High 122 Ms. Lime’s Class St. Anthony Park Elementary 86 Lipset, Sasha St. Paul Academy - Upper 120 Loftus, Maydi Sanford Middle 116 Lundeen, Parker Red Lake County Central High 113 Lussier, Addy Roseau Secondary 88 M., S. Meadowbrook Elementary 188 Mack, Harlyn Highland Park Middle 180 Magavi, Saanvi Valley View Middle 100 Manske, Gaby Azocar Highland Park Middle 132 Mau, Maisy Highland Park Middle 128 Mawusi, Nandi Meadowbrook Elementary 2 Montoya, Emiliana Meadowbrook Elementary 2 Moore, Haddie Highland Park Middle 108 Mortvedt, Delaynna Roseau Secondary 26 Muchtar, Yael St. Paul Academy - Upper 174 Mukherji, Aditri Gleason Lake Elementary 177 Musty, Mae Sanford Middle 72 Nelson, Annileigh Valley View Middle 98 Neu-Ryan, Irving Meadowbrook Elementary 3 Noel, Julez Sanford Middle 190 Nygaard, Annika Tri-County School District 51 Oesterreich, Finn Meadowbrook Elementary 6 Pakenham, Raylan Meadowbrook Elementary 6 Perez, Harper Valley View Middle 40 Pollock, Isabel Valley View Middle 36 Q., A. Roseau Elementary 94 Quirk, Robin Highland Park Middle 136 R., N. Saint Paul Downtown School 25 202 | Indices
R., B. A. Northeast Middle 146 R., B. Red Lake County Central High 64 Ram, Raaga Gleason Lake Elementary 178 Reese, Kendall Tonka Online 172 Rios, Giselle Le Sueur-Henderson Middle School 160 Roe et. al. Le Sueur-Henderson Elementary 65 Ruiz, Lisa Northeast Middle 148 S., C. Meadowbrook Elementary 18 S., I. Anoka Middle School for the Arts 104 S., Z. Le Sueur-Henderson Middle 135 Salinas, Jackson Creative Arts Secondary 30 Sannes-Eckhoff, Nora Valley View Middle 42 Mr. Seipel’s Class Le Sueur-Henderson Elementary 12 Severson, Max Tri-County School District 69 Shapiro, Aviva Meadowbrook Elementary 4 Silva, Mia Highland Park Middle 58 Skogerbo, Ryker Meadowbrook Elementary 187 Struyk, Zoe Sanford Middle 74 Stuurmans, Sadie Gleason Lake Elementary 178 Swartz, Grace William Kelley High School 107 T., H. St. Anthony Park Elementary 179 Mr. Terrone’s Class St. Anthony Park Elementary 82 Thabit, Zayna Valley View Middle 126 Thomas, Giselle St. Anthony Park Elementary 31 Tietjen, Eleanor Camden High 166 Turk-Themes, Sylvia St. Anthony Park Elementary 184 Turner, Landon Tri-County School District 66 W., B. Meadowbrook Elementary 68 Walter, Matteo Highland Park Middle 192 Westlie et. al. Le Sueur-Henderson Elementary 20 Williams, Lazar Meadowbrook Elementary 7 Wilson, Solveig Highland Park Middle 138 Winkler, Caitlyn Roseau Secondary 194 Y., N. Community of Peace Academy 102 Yang, Logan Roseville Area Middle 28
Indices | 203
2024–2025 Index by School Anoka Middle School for the Arts J. F. 106 I. S. 104 Camden High Eleanor Tietjen 166 Community of Peace Academy F. A. 48 Ariel Lee 46 N. Y. 102 Creative Arts Secondary Thessayla Bay 32 Leah Erickson 97 J. H. 96 Jackson Salinas 30 East Ridge High
Rihanna Levy 122
Fridley Middle Ace Abron 150 Lydia Coburn 62 Josie Jones 114 Gleason Lake Elementary Sven Cabanero 141 Mikelle Elfert 13 Duke Hoover 34 Leonard Johnson 176 Shay Leonard 176 Aditri Mukherji 177 Raaga Ram 178 Sadie Stuurmans 178 Highland Park Middle Isra Abdi 142 Thea Berg 164 Sloane Cobenais 54 Matilda Flynn 52 Hazel Grossman 168 Vannyva Kem 162 Maizie Hughes 110 Harlyn Mack 180 Gaby Azocar Manske 132 Maisy Mau 128 Haddie Moore 108 Robin Quirk 136 Mia Silva 58 Matteo Walter 192 Solveig Wilson 138
204 | Indices
Le Sueur-Henderson Elementary Bigaouette et. al. 21 Eischens et. al. 14 Ms. Frischmon et. al. 199 Ms. Gupton’s Class 11 Mr. Kyrin’s Class 92 Roe et. al. 65 Mr. Seipel’s Class 12 Westlie et al. 2 Le Sueur-Henderson Middle Anita Depuydt 196 Brock Hortenbach-Devine 131 Giselle Rios 160 Z. S. 135 Meadowbrook Elementary Layne Breckenridge 5 Zoe Bulman 3 Max Ingber 5 Rowan Kemnitz 19 S. M. 188 Nandi Mawusi 2 Emiliana Montoya 2 Irving Neu-Ryan 3 Finn Oesterreich 6 Raylan Pakenham 6 C.S. 18 Aviva Shapiro 4 Ryker Skogerbo 187 B.W. 68 Lazar Williams 7 Northeast Middle Mary Jane Hanks 144 B. Maesen Kirchgessner 57 A. R. 146 Lisa Ruiz 148 Red Lake County Central High B.K. 61 Jarrett Hammer 186 Parker Lundeen 113 B.R. 64 Roseau Elementary P. J. 93 A. Q. 94 Roseau Secondary A.B. 78 Alondra Diaz 156 L.H. 90 Preston Hallie 16 Ayden Hess 78 Addy Lussier 88 Delaynna Mortvedt 26 Caitlyn Winkler 194 Indices | 205
Roseville Area Middle Logan Yang 28 Saint Paul Downtown School
N. R. 25
Sanford Middle Barbie Desjarlais 154 Grand Dunham 152 B Ferris 70 Maydi Loftus 117 Mae Musty 72 Julez Noel 190 Zoe Struyk 74 Millie Whitcraft Knox 158 St. Anthony Park Elementary Ms. Austin’s Class 83 Mr. Crosby’s Class 84 Seraphine Courtney 182 Ms. Lime’s Class 86 Giselle Thomas 31 H. T. 179 Mr. Terrone’s Class 82 Sylvia Turk-Themes 184 St. Paul Academy - Lower Beckett Bemis 9 Emma Bollinger Danielson 8 Edie Hanna 24 Addie Kannapiran 87 Luca Koch 10 St. Paul Academy - Upper Sasha Lipset 120 Yael Muchtar 174 Tonka Online Kendall Reese 172 Tri-County School District Annika Nygaard 51 Max Severson 69 Landon Turner 66 Valley View Middle Lyla Drayna 38 Mylana Hallaway 44 Saanvi Magavi 100 Annileigh Nelson 98 Harper Perez 40 Isabel Pollock 36 Nora Sannes-Eckhoff 42 Zayna Thabit 126 William Kelley High Grace Swartz 107 206 | Indices
COMPAS Anthology Teaching Artists 2024–25 Charlie Maguire Desdamona Frank Sentwali Jon Lurie Joyce Sidman Kashimana Ahua Katie Knutson Kyle “Guante” Tran Myhre Marie Olofsdotter May Lee-Yang Nicholas Pawlowski See More Perspective COMPAS works with over 120 of the top Teaching Artists in Minnesota. Our Roster of Artists includes writers, theater artists, visual artists, dancers, musicians, and more. To read more about COMPAS and these Teaching Artists, use the QR code or visit COMPAS.org.
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COMPAS Mission and Programs COMPAS delivers creative experiences that unleash the potential within all of us. Our programs occur in both classrooms and the community.
Creative Classroom Creative Classroom Creativity is not owned by the arts, it is taught by them. We connect students from kindergarten to 12th grade with the life-changing power of creativity, reaching over 30,000 school children across Minnesota each year with residencies, workshops and performances. Our skilled Teaching Artists teach professional art techniques, build connections with classroom curriculum, explore history and cultural diversity, and nurture student potential. Access Yes! Catalyzing creativity in all students through the arts. COMPAS works with special education classrooms, schools that specifically serve students with cognitive or physical differences, and or schools that specialize in content tailored toward students with autism or social emotional needs. We aim to give all students the opportunity to benefit from our artists’ attention and expertise.
Creative Community Access Arts Empowering people of all abilities through the arts. Making art and connecting with each other through the arts stimulates the brain, reminds us who we are, and helps us know how to say all we want to say. COMPAS Teaching Artists create new access to a variety of creative experiences through performances, workshops, and long-term residencies. 208 | COMPAS and the 46th Anthology
AnyPlace Arts Bringing the arts wherever you are. From libraries, parks and festivals to after-school programs, shelters and recreation centers, COMPAS delivers enriching, creativity-growing experiences to all Minnesotans. Artful Aging™ Creativity gives us purpose. Purpose is what keeps us alive. Artists work side-by-side with adults 55+ who live independently and in senior living centers. Engaging, artistic experiences bring joy and satisfaction to seniors as they discover new talents and renew old ones. Arts in Healthcare When words fail to express, creativity allows us to heal. Our Arts in Healthcare programs strengthen community and wellness through professional arts performances and instruction. Creativity stimulates recovery, increases quality of life and connects staff and patients. Youth Arts Creating a brighter future. Youth Arts programming equips youth to reach new heights. Inspired by their interests in the arts, youth learn life and business skills to help them succeed anywhere. Justice Arts Helping justice involved youth and adults create better lives and brighter futures. The Advisory Task Force on Justice Involved Women and Girls began a poetry writing program for women in Minnesota county jails and partnered with COMPAS to incorporate the program into our offerings. The program has grown to offer any artform and support justice involved youth and adults in Minnesota.
Our talented writers, musicians, visual artists and performance artists inspire all ages with hands-on programs throughout Minnesota. For more information on any of these programs contact COMPAS at: 651.292.3249 or info@compas.org COMPAS and the 46th Anthology | 209
COMPAS Staff 2024–2025 Frank Sentwali Gardner, Principal Teaching Artist Mia Gifford, Arts Program Associate Amanda Hestwood, Arts Program Director Brittany Keefe, Arts Program Manager Joan Linck, Director of Strategic Development Sam Massaglia, Marketing & Communications Director Katie Schmieg Miller, Arts Program Manager Jes Reyes, Arts Program Manager Elwyn Ruud, Northwest Area Arts Coordinator Dawne Brown White, Executive Director Emrys Yang, Program & Development Coordinator
COMPAS Board of Directors 2024–2025 Liz Sheets, President Stephen Hawley, PhD, Treasurer Amy Lucas, Secretary Andrew Leizens, Strategic Plan Development Chair Mimi Stake, Development Committee Chair Ryan Kopperud, Marketing Committee Chair Yvette Trotman, HR Committee Chair Virajita Singh, Member at Large
Members at Large: Lindsey Anderson, Iren Bishop, Ann Dayton, Melissa Drwall-Hrad, Heidi Fehlhaber, Jessica Gessner, Jeff Goldenberg, James Plesser, Dr. Louis Porter II, Margaret (Greta) Rudolph, Sonya Smith Šustáček, Anne Tallman, Lauren Thron Member 2025–26: Jack Fistler & Jacob Snyder Timmons Emeritus Members: Cheryl Bock & Roderick Hernub Southhall 210 | COMPAS and the 46th Anthology
2025 Anthology Editor Amanda Hestwood has been an educator and arts administrator for over twenty-five years and brings a wealth of experience to her role as the COMPAS Arts Program Director. Amanda most recently served as the Managing Director for Park Square Theatre and Director of Education for Ashland Productions, following more than twenty years of teaching English and Theatre in the South Washington County School District. Amanda has directed over forty stage productions as an artist, most recently The Wolves at Century College. She currently serves on the school board for the Saint Paul Conservatory for the Performing Arts and co-chairs several theatre booster boards. In addition to overseeing the Arts Programs for COMPAS, Amanda directly manages and is the point of contact for all Creative Classroom programs, once again connecting to her background as an educator in the classroom. She has a Master’s in Education from Hamline University, focusing on ADHD and Neurodivergence in adolescence.
2025 Anthology Artists Cover artist, Joselyn Lee, was a Jury Pick award winner for her piece, Grandma’s Garden during the 2025 EYA Gallery and Awards for Visual artists in the East Metro. Joselyn recently graduated from Woodbury High School. Dajanae King was commissioned for the interior artwork for each section based on her EYA Gallery submissions over the past two years. In 2024, she won best of grade designation at the EYA visual arts show at the Landmark Center. Dajanae is a sophmore at Woodbury High School.
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The Lillian Wright Awards for Creative Writing The Lillian Wright Awards recognize literary achievement among young writers in the COMPAS Creative Classroom Program. Generously underwritten by the Lillian Wright and C. Emil Berglund Foundation, the award winners and their schools are celebrated at the publication event in November along with all the students within these pages. This year’s judge is the anthology’s editor Amanda Hestwood. The winners are:
BEST WRITING, GRADES K–3: “Today I Am a Butterfly” by Aditri Mukherji Grade 2, Gleason Lake Elementary, Plymouth
BEST WRITING, GRADES 9–12: “The Fields Have It All” by Preston Hallie Grade 9, Roseau Secondary, Roseau BEST PROSE: GRADES 4–8: “Chose Silence” by Sasha Lipset Grade 6, St. Paul Academy, Saint Paul BEST POETRY: GRADES 4–8: “Take Me” by Aviva Shapiro Grade 4, Meadowbrook Elementary, Golden Valley BEST SPOKEN WORD POETRY: GRADES 4–8: “1.4º Celsius” by Maisy Mau Grade 8, Highland Park Middle School, Saint Paul “The Eldest Daughter” by Ariel Lee Grade 7, Community of Peace Academy, Saint Paul BEST COLLABORATIVE WORK: GRADES 4–8: “Be the Change” by Mrs. Gupton’s Class Grade 3, Le Sueur-Henderson Elementary, Le Sueur
212 | Lillian Wright Awards