WingSpan Poetry Project


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I was 4

Just a little girl, long hair
outside playing in the summer,
then clothes caught on fire
was so scared and frightened.
Man jumped the fence and made me
roll on the ground.

Was in a panic.
Mom and Dad were overcome with dread.

My mom held me tight with a blanket
over me.
Must have been in shock
in so much pain.

Was in the hospital for a long time
my legs bandaged up.
Hurt so bad.

The nurses and doctors were so nice.
I still hate fire today.


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Poetry at Saint Elizabeth’s

To be betrayed
with every clanking
of washing pots and pans

To be limitless
as the water pours and pours
pushing more suds into a limitless set of porcelain plates

To be mysteriously
woven into a room with 8 sheets
that encompass an adventurous human
whose turn it is to lose everything

To be happy while throwing
up at the thought of earning nothing but a chore
of plunging the toilet for a set of 34

Not so bad. But a reminder
to never again and again be like
a jack rabbit that is strictly a giver.

Oh, thank God for St Elizabeth’s.
May you never drop the Saint part of the name.