My Hand

My fingers like stars on the sea.

Endless holes inside of Me.

Tired sea snails resting on the dock.

The tide washing over the shore.

Camper's tents in the night

And the gentle pushing of the oar.

My hand like the prinkled wrinkles
of squinted faces

And prancing dancers.

A singers lines.

Trees reaching for the sky.

Sails of a sailboat blowing with the wind.
Pitch forks going down
and up again.

Leather boots worn out

And finally though we don't want to,
We thrust this to an end with a final
E.

— Joshua Nathan, Grade 2
Meridian Park Elementary
Seattle, Washington