Two Children of Kabul

Two children One city A boy with plenty A girl with naught Two hands dripping with toys Two caked with grime Two sneakered feet cushioned by carpet Two in sandals, bloodied by stones Two eyes longing greedily more Two eyes begging for compassion A mansion A shack Two children One city Two worlds

Starting Over

Born in Sudan But my blood is Eritrean At the age of three I was wishing to be free My country was at war My family getting ready to leave everything behind Being aimed at as a target Not knowing where to go or where to hide Holding on tight and not wanting to die Innocent kids running Their families either gone or dead Shedding blood and tears Yelling, screaming Those were the sounds I heard When people were dying and being harassed Coming to "The Land of the Free" Was awkward, a weird feeling in my body New people, new clothes, new language, new area Having to start all over from a different country Having to go to school, where I didn't understand the language Everybody having friends except for me Having nobody to talk to I felt like I wasn't welcome in America -- Hiruy Tesfai, a high-school junior lives in Washingto and is originally from Sudan.

It Would Rule

If I was really good at math like really, really like getting 120 on the test before the curve without studying, it would rule if when I did get that 120 nobody would assume I spent the night before memorizing the textbook every ,;'[]()!?. it would rule if nobody assumed that I play ping pong or kung-fu or Starcraft or Warcraft or witchcraft and didn't just ignore that tiny slim little chance of me actually playing basketball. maybe even being good at it. it would so rule if just because I would rather write a poem than go out to get hammered just because I hate their gossip just because they all judge me for what I look like instead of who I am that Chin-Kee Hele can't plonounce his R's. Or worse— that I'm crazy just like that kid they saw on TV you know the one with the two guns and the backwards hat and all those people oh god all he did was write in that little book of his— you know, it would really rule like leally, leally if I wasn't just another Asian. -- Anthony Gouw, 16, Chinese American, New York. Anthony will attend Duke beginning this fall.

Jamaica

Steamy, black air gently blowing on my wet cheekbones. Sultry palm trees slapping me like wind. I'm dropping down the hill with steps made of mud. The hazel-black sky exploding, while stars land in my eyes. Mosquitoes tickle my bald ankles like feathers. Locals, like mice, walk with the sounds of coins jingling off fingertips. Voices sinking into the silent sea begging for more, and more. I'm still tumbling. -- Monique Smiley, 14, Oregon. Monique adds, "My dad is Jamaican/African/Native American and my mom is Austrian and Scottish which makes me mixed."

Skipping Stones Magazine
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