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?
Tags: daughter, everyday, poetry
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