As part of a group project in her fifth-grade Spanish class, Skylar has to produce a poem about Buenos Aires. While we were at Beyond Bread before her martial arts class this afternoon she decided to get a head start. This is what she came up with, in three minutes:
The city sweeps me, the silver windows of its teeth flashing, soaring through the clouds, to a smooth, stone finger, the obelisk, pointing to a lost object, not seen or heard, past restaurants packed with steaming steak, through the Biblioteca Nacional with dusty books bursting with knowledge, and still we pass, a final dip, a bow, and the pancake sun drips butter on my velvet gown, bleaching it into morning.
It's scary, watching how quickly this kind of language and form come to her. Scary in a good way, that is. The only problem is that I now have the task of helping her translate it into Spanish. Anybody know whether "pancake sun" will make sense?