Poinsettia {A Poem}

The poinsettia
It lived
Far longer than we expected.
They said it was my loving, seven-year-old hands
That did that bit of holiday magic.

The poinsettia
It would have lived longer
If we had taken it with us
Or stayed to care for it.
But, we couldn't.

The poinsettia
We left it behind
And a recent discovery is
I left my magical, loving touch
With it.

Puzzle Pieces {A Poem}

My life is a puzzle:
Every piece is needed
And each one is different.
My immediate family is the big picture,
For our bond couldn’t be stronger.
My Irish relatives are the edges,
For they shaped me into who I am.
My Italian relatives are the bursts of color
For they have put the excitement in my life.
And my friends, both far-away and near,
Are the details that are sometimes overlooked
But without them, everything would fall apart.

The Necklace {A Poem}

The necklace

Sat unnoticed on a shelf.

Its four words

And charming appearance

Were sadly overlooked.

There was a day

That was destined to be great.

It wasn’t.

I was in tears of insecurity

Only then did I see the necklace.

My Name {A Poem}

It was your loud ways,

The love that showed

In everything you’d say,

It was your Irish side,

The faith was here to stay

That made me choose a name

That would remind me of you.

Timing {A Poem}

It seems no matter where I go

My timing is never right.

Your friendships were made so long ago

That is it much too late for me.

It’s not your fault

Nor is it mine.

This is just the way it is

To change it would be out of line.

So please don’t resent me

For being happy elsewhere

In a place where timing doesn’t matter

And so I am not late there.

Lily {A Poem}

There is a girl named Lily
Whose friends seemed so perfect
Until she chose to be honest.

Although they still love her and she loves them
Lily knows all too well that things will never be the same
Just because she wanted to be a friend.

Now she is torn between
The friends who call her by name
And the friends who no longer see her as 'Lily'.

Change of Heart {A Poem}

There was a night that was meant to be fun

And my stubborn heart chose that night

To let my deepest feelings run loose.

Though unclear at the time, it made sense eventually.

A ton of little things happened that night

All of which triggered anger within me

My emotions built up until finally

It tore down the wall that surrounded my heart.

It started when we picked teams

In a way that reminded me of home.

The next thing was a pang of jealousy

As a friend left for a louder group.

After that it was a best friend’s ignorance

Next, a friend’s hurtful remark

And that was when I reached my boiling point,

Then, one friend’s kindness brought me back.

There were five friends who helped me

Two asked if I was okay, two consoled me as I cried

And the other offered to listen if I needed to talk.

They were the ones who changed my heart.

Looking back I can see easily the night’s importance

For it made me realize,I was living in a possible future

Paying way too much attention to the past

And failing to live in the moment.

To A Special Someone {A Poem}

This is a poem to someone very special
Whose heart is bigger than most
And who is the strongest person
That I am proud to know.

This is to the one who remained faithful
Who always prayed and thanked God
And woke up with a smile every day.
This is to the one I have tried to imitate.

This is to the one who told me I was pretty
The only one that I actually believed
Who will be only ever be thought of fondly.
This is to the one who will never truly be gone.

The Rooster Who Saved the Stories [Short Story]

Once upon a time there was a young girl who lived on a farm with her mother, father, two brothers, and three sisters.  She was a very bright girl, having been homeschooled her whole life, very sweet, really hardworking, and extremely talkative. Agatha--that was the girl’s name--loved to tell stories. Her imagination was impressive, and her storytelling even more so. She was truly talented; unfortunately, when you’re five years old, it doesn’t matter how wonderful your stories are. Most people are too ignorant to think you anything but cute. (And in Agatha’s case, loud.)

   Even her family members overlooked her talents. When Agatha asked if they wanted to hear her latest story, they would say “Oh, Agatha, stop making up these silly stories and go milk the cow!”

  Being young, the ignorance of others didn’t bother Agatha. Instead, she pitied them. “How terrible it must be not to have an imagination!” she would say. So as she milked the cow and fed the chickens and groomed the horses she would tell her stories. The animals always listened to her. Not once did they interrupt or tell her to shut up.

  But as the years passed Agatha started to take things more personally. When people would scoff at her love of stories she didn’t take it lightly. And it pains me to say that at the age of fifteen she stopped telling stories altogether. Her days became sad and dull. She worked on the farm, did her schooling, and ate her meals in silence. And what do you think happens to stories that are not shared with others? They are forgotten.

 Two years passed. Agatha was seventeen, and she had stuck to not telling stories. This made her a rather boring person. Everyone talked about how she was such a mature young lady who surprised them all by “finally leaving that horrible, childish phase of talking nonstop.”

  And then something very weird and miraculous happened.

  It was a sunny day in June. Like any other day, Agatha was heading to the barn to feed the animals. As she tossed handfuls of grain out for the chickens, she accidentally threw one handful a little too hard. The grain hit one of the roosters, who squawked, jumped, and gave Agatha the evil eye. Agatha ignored this and continued tossing grain.

“You were nicer when you told stories.” a voice grumbled. Agatha jumped and turned around, expecting one of her brothers. But there was no one there.

“Who said that?” she demanded. “Who’s there?”

“Jeez, calm down.” said the voice. “It’s just me.” Bewildered, Agatha spun around. No one was there.

“Down here.” She looked down. The rooster was still glaring at her. A crazy thought entered her head, but you must remember that she was no longer the imaginative person she once was. Now she was older and proper and dull. Agatha was then shaking so much that she dropped the pail of grain.

“Now, now, there’s no need for that.” said the voice. The rooster’s beak moved with each word. Agatha was terrified. She took a few steps back and tripped over one of the chickens.

“This isn’t happening.” Agatha said, shaking her head.

“Say it as many times as you like.” said the rooster. “I’ll still be talking.”

“No!” Agatha said. “Roosters can’t talk. I’m just imagining this.” She clenched her fists so her nails dug into her palms and squeezed her eyes shut.

“If only you were.” the rooster sighed. “Sadly, you lost your imagination along with your funness.”

“That’s not even a word.” snapped Agatha, her eyes still shut. The rooster sighed again. Only this time it was more of an annoyed sigh than a sad one.

“Your imagination is truly gone.” Agatha didn’t see this, but the rooster puffed out his feathers and walked snootily over to the grain pile. Agatha opened one eye.

“Do you really miss my stories?” she asked shyly.

“Of course!” the rooster said, aghast. “We all do. You had such great stories and were great at sharing them.”

  Agatha, of course, was fairly glowing with excitement and pleasure. All those years she had told stories, all those years that people ignored her because she was young and homeschooled and couldn’t possibly be good at anything, she had had listeners. She had had fans.

  As you can probably guess, Agatha was the happiest person in the world at that moment. She was so happy that she overcame her fright of the talking rooster, and instead pulled him into a hug. He squawked and tried to get away.

“Thank you! Thank you! Oh, thank you!” Agatha said. The rooster just squawked with annoyance.

  That was the day Agatha started telling stories again. Only this time she wrote them down. The rooster told her the stories she had told him years ago (she had forgotten them) and she wrote those down as well. A few years later she got them published, and naturally everyone liked her. Finally, they realized the brilliance in her stories and how smart she really was. For the rest of her life, Agatha was beloved, as were her stories.

 And she owed it all to the Rooster.

The Choice [Short Story]

Jessi has been my best friend since second grade. We do everything together, we can talk about anything, and I never get tired of spending time with her. I can always count on her to make me laugh, hear me out, and support me.

 Or at least I used to.

  Alyssa came into the picture the second week of our freshman year, and she changed everything. She was nice at first: asking to eat lunch with us, walking home with us, and smiling at us in class, that sort of thing. But then she started bringing her two best friends, Tracy and Natalie, along with her. Not that I wasn’t happy to make new friends, but Alyssa, Tracy and Natalie were kind of cliquish. To anyone else it looks like the five of us hang out all the time, and they might assume that we’re all best friends. But really, although we’re together a lot, Alyssa stopped including me once Tracy and Natalie came in, and Jessi....well, she kind of went along with Alyssa. And now even when it’s just me and Jessi, all she wants to talk about is stylish Natalie, hilarious Tracy and awesome Alyssa. Oh, and I can’t call her “Jessi” anymore--it’s “Jessica”, because “Jessi” is her “childish nickname”.  

 And I’m beginning to feel like I’m her childish friend.

   Now it’s mid-October, and Jessi is still acting like Alyssa. They even dress alike now, and in the past Jessi was always very secure about her taste in clothes.

  Today our class is taking a field trip to a nature center. Jessi sits with Alyssa, Tracy and Natalie in the back of the bus, and I find a seat in the middle. Their laughs dig into me like knives the whole way there.

  Once the class is in the nature center the teacher, Mrs. Baker, explains that we have to take a hike to get to the other center where we’ll learn (through a lecture) about the animals that live in the woods surrounding the center.

    It’s chilly outside but not unbearable. The woods smells like leaves and slightly like a campfire. I can hear the chirping of birds and the movement of an animal in the bushes. After some walking we come across a small creek, and as we pass by I catch a glimpse of a frog before it jumps into the water.

  Jessi and her new friends fall behind the rest of the group, and I’m surprised when I hear:

“Psst! Lily!” I don’t have to look to know it’s Jessi speaking. I turn around and see that she and the others have stopped walking and are pointing exciting to a plant. I leave the group and go to where they stand. I look to where they’re pointing and see that it’s another path that’s concealed by some overgrown plants.

“That’s neat.” I say.

“Let’s follow it.” says Alyssa. Tracy and Natalie nod excitedly and Jessi pushes the plants aside.

“Wait,” I say, “Don’t you guys think we should stay with our class?”

“And get lectured on animals? Uh, no thanks.” Natalie says, flicking her hand at me like I’m a pesky fly.

“Come on, Lily!” Jessi says. “It’ll be fun.” She steps over the plants and takes a few steps down the path. Natalie and Tracy follow.

“Join us.” Alyssa says in an almost whisper as she brushes past me. Her voice sends a shiver up my spine. I hesitate. I don’t feel like being lectured on animals, but I also don’t feel like getting in trouble. Which one is worse?

“I can’t.” I say. Jessi looks disappointed, hurt even, and Alyssa just smirks. Tracy and Natalie fake sighs and the three of them turn and walk down the path. Jessi holds my eyes for another second before she joins them. I watch until they’ve disappeared into the trees and sigh. Then I turn and run to catch up with the class. I join them just as they’re entering the building, and luckily the teacher doesn’t seem to know I was gone.

    As the class settles in to listen to the lecture I start to think about what Alyssa said. The way she said “Join us.” makes me think that she wasn’t just talking about joining them on the hidden path. She was talking about joining her clique--Jessi, Tracy, and Natalie. I had been invited into her group.

 And I turned it down.

~3 Years Later~

  Do I regret not joining them on the path? I did for awhile, but now I’m glad I didn’t. In the months that followed I wished I had because I wanted to be friends with Jessi again. But now I’m glad I didn’t, because on the last day of my junior year Jessi came to my house and apologized for not being there for me. And now we’re closer than ever. And Alyssa? She hangs out with Tracy and Natalie and the three of them shoot us dirty looks. But that’s a small price to pay for being friends with Jessi again.

An Answer {A Poem}

I prayed for a rose

To tell me it would all be okay.

The very next day

You wore a pretty dress

In a lovely rose print.

The Therapist {A Poem}

We sit in the newly cleaned room with the TV playing
Laughing at the wit and at the child, who is saying
In his own words how happy he is..
And then there is a knock, knock on the door
And with that knock, knock on the door
The room and the child both go silent, and to myself
I say, “It’s going to be okay.”

I remain sitting, but soon feel like I’m in the way
So I go upstairs, and begin to write, but find
That my mind is gone, and instead I hear what they say
About the child’s exercises. It hurts to hear, but what hurts more
Is when I hear the thump, thump, of someone coming upstairs
Because when I hear the thump, thump, I know they’re not for me, and
So again I tell myself, “It’s going to be okay.”

When the therapist leaves, I put away the writing
In which I failed to finish. My hands shake, inviting
Tears to my eyes that I quickly wipe away.
Downstairs I hear laughing, laughing of my family
And I join them, and we are laughing, laughing together
Because the child is doing well, says the therapist, and now
I say to myself, “It is okay.”

Understand {A Poem}

My heart and pro-con list both say

That this is the right way.

But my indecisive mind sees the good in both lands

So how can I expect you to understand?

Know that you made me a Keystone

With love that said I wasn't alone

And friendships I knew would never fail.

Try to understand, you’ve heard the tales,

I feel great pain in leaving.

The wonders of homeschooling will always amaze me

You were so much better than I expected you to be

You made the Buckeye state feel like a home

But understand, listen to this poem,

This choice was never yours to make.

I won’t leave bitter, I won’t come mourning

And I just hope you won’t think I went without warning

Pennsylvania is the keystone of our happiness,

Just remember, even through this darkness,

My heart will always belong to both my home states.

An Old Poem {A Poem}

There are poems I wrote as a kid

About puppies, dreams and other things

That now sit in an old and dusty box

On a high and forgotten shelf.

These poems, they sit there

Waiting to be remembered and read

But that day is still a ways away

And so the poems sit, gathering dust by the day.

I fear that I am a poem

One of fun times and many laughs

That will soon sit in a dusty box

The box that is labeled “PA.”

Cardinal {A Poem}

The red feathers of the cardinal

Are not often seen

Therefore the sight is exciting

And causes one to feel happy.

What if we saw cardinals every day?

The sight would no longer be a novelty

The color red would soon annoy

And that can never go smoothly.

I fear that I am a cardinal

Once a joy and now a pain

By coming to stay am I only ruining

The friendships that were once everlasting?

Rumors {A Poem}

It’s crazy how fast word can spread

Even crazier what people hear instead

And incredibly sad when they don’t hear you

And instead go on, believing what is not true.

Things were never set in stone

I told one person as to not be alone

And she told just one more

Who told many, leaving out the words “We aren’t sure.”

What was then a relief is now an agony

I find myself looking at the past longingly

Wishing for the friendship we once had

And thinking how you have made me sad.

I wish that you would stop saying

That I lied to you about staying.

I promise that is not what I said

That is just how the rumors spread.

If you listen to me, you will know

That it was never certain when I will go.

I fear if you do not hear what I have to say

Bitterness and loneliness is how I will go away.