I love feeling her body close to me.

I love spring.

I love the sounds of birds.

I love the smell of roses.

I love wearing nice clothes.

I love my family when they gather up.

I love cheetahs.

I love being happy.

I love the taste of strawberries in spring.

I love wearing nice earrings.

I love being free at times.

I love being independent.

I love that my daughter is always mine.

I love cooking.

I love my life and I can’t complain.

by Rossemery

I love to feel my baby boy moving inside my belly,

I love to eat and taste the mozzarella sticks with spaghettis,

I love to feel the warmth of my boyfriend cuddling with me,

I love falling asleep to the beat of the music,

I love to hear my niece say “titi titi”,

I love to see my mom happy & smiling every day when I get up,

I love to see my family having a good time together,

I love playing with my daughter & niece,

I love cooking for my family,

I love jamming to music when I’m bored or alone,

I love to see my niece & daughter dancing to reggaeton,

I love to go out shopping with my sister,

I love to hear my daughter, mom & boyfriend say “I LOVE YOU”

by Jennifer R

I love texting,

I love taking bubble bath with my kids,

I love my kids, my son calling me “mami”, my daughter’s laugh,

I love my apartment,

I love my mother,

I love my father,

I love my brothers,

I love my nephews,

I love the way my nephew calls me “titi”,

I love the sun in the summer,

I love summer clothes,

I love sandals,

I love roses,

I love the color yellow because it’s bright as the sun,

I love monkeys,

I love cooking rice, chicken, pasta and everything that comes to mind,

I love being a mother,

I love when my man tells me he loves me,

I love being a wife,

I love when my son tells me he loves me,

I just love being me!

                           by Keyshlian

When I hold an orange

I imagine myself playing baseball hitting the ball and running to the bases.

When I look at the orange I don’t see an orange I see a rock. It is bumpy but

Rough like a snake’s skin.  I ask myself “Why are oranges like that, so rough

and so sweet in the inside?”

When I eat an orange I feel like I am in a tropical island setting on a hammock

and the breeze is hitting my hair.

But after imagining all of this I realize that when I hold the orange
it feels like my baby’s head when I first touched her!

        by Maria O.

She is the only red rose surrounded by white roses

I am one of the white roses around her

Her mood is like the day and night

I’m stubborn when you try to stop me

I’m like a rainbow

I am bright when I am out side, grey when I’m inside.

by Jennifer M. C.

Someday I’ll have a good job, a car, and my own house.

Someday I’ll be a nurse.

Someday I’ll feel like I had accomplished all the things I wanted.

Someday you will see that I’ll be somebody important.

 But now, here I am taking care of my two little ones.

I’ts hard sometime but I’ll do anything for my kids.

Someday my kids will say  “Mommy you’re the best mommy in the world“.

By Keyshlian

Breakfast at the Inn: A Family Poem

For Ivelisse Z.

The Georgia peach to my left

introduces herself and her pink-faced daughters,

explains her husband was too busy with work

to join them at the beach this weekend,

and would I pass the pitcher of cream, please.

I introduce myself, my own grown daughter,

who is sipping coffee from a mug, at my right.

“And where’s your husband,” Miss Peach asks,

smug as you please.

“My what?” I ask.

“Your husband,” in her lilting Georgia-ese.

“Oh,” I say, smothering my French toast

in puddles of maple syrup.

“I don’t have one of those.” The tone of my voice

carries an eye-roll and a puh-lease!

My life has never been the perfect

yellow-orange-pink of a ripe cut fruit.

My story would run far longer

than it will take for this Georgia Peach

to sop up the last of her runny eggs with her toasted bread

and leave. Love, bonds, a baby girl. No husband.

My life has been a strange and precious fruit,

which is what I’d like to say when Miss Georgia tries her pretty best

to console poor lil’ ole’ me:

“That’s okay, I guess,” she says.

“It is,” I answer, “exactly what it is.”

— Tzivia

ASSIGNMENT: Write a Love poem. Use Sound, color, animal and weather.

- Stephanie

Love Poem: Sound, color, animal, weather

for Stephanie

Dusk.

The day has all but given up — turns the color of weak coffee.

I’m heading home, too late,

my bicycle tire squeaking like a lost bird,

when a doe shoots from nowhere

into my path.

The air around my heart lifts,

flutters.

This is how love finds us:

some mild evening

unexpected.

- Tzivia

ASSIGNMENT: Write a poem about how you felt about working in The Care Center and how you feel about leaving The Care Center after 8 years. Good Luck.

- Adelaida G.

How I Feel About Working at The Care Center – How I Feel About Leaving

for Adelaida

Working here feels like knitting a scarf that is long enough to wrap around worlds

weaving it with words instead of knits and purls.

Working here feels like digging for diamonds

with pencils instead of picks.

Working here feels like opening doors

using poems as keys.

Working here feels like making sunshine

out of feelings: anger fear, disappointment, joy and hope.

Leaving here feels like breaking your pencil point right when you find the best word for your poem.

Leaving here feels like a poem in need of a new metaphor.

Like putting down a book right when you get to the juiciest part.

Leaving here is made easier, knowing I leave behind me

a line of poets, pregnant with stories, emotions and wise words

who will continue telling the story

long after I’m gone.

- Tzivia

ASSIGNMENT: Write an I Remember poem.

- Ericka

I Remember

for Ericka

I remember the smells of hand cream being applied during class

and the smell of pizza for lunch.

I remember the day a student discovered the rings of Saturn

circling her eyes.

I remember ‘goodbyes’ when students passed their GEDs

and tears at graduation – of happiness and pride.

I remember how one class renamed Poetry Class, Crying Class, and how we learned together the power in our emotions.

I remember the sounds of pencils on paper, the buzz of the sharpener, and requests for “More paper, Miss.”

I remember so many voices, each accented by honey or fire, by the timbre of chimes or drums.

I remember handwriting and lines from poems, even when I forget the student poets’ names.

I remember trying to break up a fight by yelling, “Ladies! Please!”

I remember new babies passed from hand to hand – our Care Center family growing.

I remember fashion critiques from students as I tried to interest them in metaphor or rhyme.

I remember the gray cat who used to crawl through the window during class.

I remember being called the Poetry Lady, The Happy Teacher, and Sylvia, and Miss.

I remember Hypatia and Religion class and Intro to Criminal Justice – two and a half times!

I remember yelling at a student for being late. She apologized, and never told me it was because her boyfriend was arrested that morning as he was driving her to school – and she had to walk the rest of the way.

I remember laughing so hard with a group of students one day that I had to sit on the floor.

I remember the sounds of students and teachers huffing, sighing and complaining, “Dios Mio,” as they climbed the last step to the third floor … just outside my office door.

I remember Selenia standing in the doorway of her office, proud and beautiful – a mother and grandmother to us all.

I remember every teacher who passed through and most of the students, too.

I remember a young woman coming to The Care Center shy and unsure, then blossoming day by day. I remember her standing up to read her poems in spite of her tears. I remember her coming to school wearing a medal one day. It was for rowing, but it could have been for just about anything.

- Tzivia