Maggie wrote this poem for a 7th grade English class. It is about the field trip they took to the LA river. I think it's just amazing.
The ground is blue. Bluer than a mailbox, than Eeyore. Industrial streaks of night claw through the blue, creating fissures in the earth that give infinity a new meaning.
Far off in the sky, the king stands regally on a rock, his orange bill quacking orders at the underlings. A small gaggle of buffleheads floating in the sky. They fight over grass. The ripples distort the clouds.
A picturesque miniature, the small river flows steadily, unaware of the ruckus of the urban greenery. It burbles along and meets the universe in which buffleheads play.
The failing sun causes people to blend with their opposites. Dark nothings grow like trees. The chatter of the creek sends me into a trance. When I stare at moss, I see everything but moss. Everything has a tiny, gently beating heart.
A teacher yells. The serenity I experienced just a moment ago washes downstream along with a grungy tennis ball.
Gone.
Beauty is dead.
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