Come straight home, straight home after school.
Don't wander, meander -- you know the rule.

That's what Missy's mama said.
Missy heard and nodded her head.
She meant to mind, but how could she know
that a lizard would tease, that a breeze would blow
and push her along like hands on her back...
that a bird would lead her far off the track
into a field where flowers grew wild --
where a babbling brook woud talk to a child?

      Published in Cricket, April 1990



as water
becomes the creek
trilling, filling it
giving it voice.

Music becomes me
like sparks
through electric wires
making light of dark.

Music becomes me
as wind
becomes the storm
swishing, swaying me
tapping my feet
thrusting my hands up
like castanets chattering.

Caught in its breath
I dance on winter's roof.

      Published in CALL DOWN THE MOON,
      poems selected by Myra Cohn Livingston,
      Margaret McElderrry Books, 1995



A beach house made of wood
weathered and gray
stands on stilts
on glistening sand

like an old lady
with long, thin legs
who holds up her skirt
to wade
laughing, barefooted

into the sighing surf.

      Published in Cricket, 1997