Metamorphosis

by Stephanie Langson Canter

Does the butterfly berate

the caterpillar's gait,

its slow, low, lonely life

upon the leaf?

    Or bemoan

    days living as a drone

    eating, eating, eating

    without relief?

Does it decry

the wasted time gone by

hiding in a pocket

like a guilty handkerchief?

    Or remain

    in slanderous self blame

    beating, beating, beating

    its wings in grief?

Does it derail

its metamorphic tale

clinging to a form's

long past motif?

    Or recall

    the struggle of it all

    shearing, shearing, shearing

    the binding sheaf?

Butterflies emerge

true to nature's urge,

fixed in present light,

strong and purposeful in flight.

Coney Island Amusement Park, 1945

by Janice Fine

Strapped in

"Whirling Wind."

Slowly curving upward to the top, around, round,

fast, faster, dizzying, tilted steeply,

tornado tunneled,

up-side-down, gripping the rail,

children shrieking.

Sick to my stomach

Well fall out. Nothing more terrifying 'til

"My hat, my wig, my wig!"

Papa's head poked up, naked.

He screamed, "Stop the ride!"

I screamed, "Stop the ride!"

But nothing stopped the ride.

Rumbling, roaring, raging,

it jerked to a halt on a steep incline.

We clambered out.

He covered his head with his hands.

A thousand jeering eyes fastened on us:

yellow-green slits, dark lightening, barbed blue,

cut me like shells under bare, sandy feet.

We slithered along,

our eyes cast down, foraging ...

Found the thing sliding into the motor � grabbed it.

He slapped it on�a small brown-black animal trapped.

I hobbled away, sobbing.

Papa called, "Well try it again next Sunday,

and this time I'll use more glue."

At The Circus

by Charles Scheitler

I saw the elephants and giraffes

And had a hot dog

Then I watched the tightrope walkers

And ate a bale of cotton candy

Then I got really scared by the lions

A root beer calmed me down

Then I ate some more pop corn

Then I watched the acrobats

And had a coke after that

I laughed at the clowns all the time-

I wanted a slice of pizza

But my dad wouldn't let me have one-

I had a swell time

At the circus-

After Months of Thirst

by Ruth E. Dickinson

After months of thirst, my small plot of earth

drinks deep the daily downpour.

From long-interred fruit and vegetable scraps,

papaya plantations in miniature,

volunteer tomato plants emerge.

Festooned with trumpets of yellow velvet,

satin-leaved branches of the intrepid alamanda

compete with thorny sprigs of bougainvillea

to block access to the garage.

And, miracles of miracles, from the surviving half

of the hurricane-battered mango tree--

listing south at forty-five degrees-

pink-cheeked globes of green

the shape of ostrich eggs dangle in the breeze

Daughter

by Blake ValinP

Resplendently defiant,

the irascible teenage girl stands,

Razor tongued, scissors sharp,

bent on cutting some apron strings.

Her mother holds her ground,

defending that righteous apron.

by Majorie Wolfson