She dries her hands
On the faded blue apron
Before sorting through
The afternoon mail.
She is unfazed by the various
Timers,
Neighbors,
Children,
And pets
Who attempt to disrupt
Her patient meal preparation.
She simply steps back and forth
Gracefully gliding from sink to stove.
Her duty lies here
Until the bread has risen
And each corner of the last plate
Dried.

Ally Johnson
Second Place 11th and 12th grades
LA Writes! 2008
University Lab School
Baton Rouge, LA

A horse or deer, an iron horse. Steel bent to suggest a limb, half-lifted. A curve posits the
necessity of eyes, keeping an eye on things. Limber foreleg lifted into air, horse. An air of
grace, a deer fleeing into dark. Shadows of oaks stand in the wings. Dear horse and dark night.
Her tail suggests otherwise, an impatience registers even in stillness. Night horse a flight of iron
over earth. Even iron cannot defy gravity. Any situation is lost without a map. steel bends
necessarily, a bow or arc, an unwillingness to wait. forest beckons like black earth and sun-
soaked air. Seen and seeing, grace depends on silence and the inevitability of motion. A horse
gambols over earth, a horse making light of air.

Marthe Reed
from her book Tender Box: A Wunderkammer
Lavender Ink, 2007
Used by permission of the poet.