Young Writers Project: ‘June 10’

Young Writers Project is a creative online community of teen writers, photographers and artists, which has been based in Vermont since 2006. Each week, VTDigger features the writing and art of young Vermonters who publish their work on youngwritersproject.org , a free, interactive website for 12- to 18-year-olds. To find out more, visit youngwritersproject.org , or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at sreid@youngwritersproject.org and 802-324-9538.

Whether apartment unit, mobile home, camper van or the more traditional fixed-address house, our homes can come to take on personalities all their own. With that understanding, we sometimes hold affection for them, and other times exasperation (is that the roof leaking again?) — but either way, we’re bound to feel a heavy sense of grief after our final departure from them, and from every setting of true significance to us. This week’s featured poet, Adele Freebern of Richmond, meditates on this topic further as it relates to the unconventional home of her old school bus, just as she prepares to offer one last silent farewell.

June 10

Adele Freebern, 13, Richmond

My last time

walking down the steps

of a rickety, yellow home,

leaving shouts and laughter

behind me.

My last time

walking down the steps

of a home I hated every afternoon,

leaving uncomfortable gray seats

and small children standing up,

jumping at the one bump in the road

as the bus glides over,

getting closer and closer to my other home.

My last time

arriving at my street,

children moving out of aisles

for friends and family to slither by.

My last time

saying, “Thank you,”

to the old man or woman

who yell at misbehaving fourth-graders —

who have hearts of greater strength

and courage than anybody else,

to be a bus driver for loud, young kids.

My last time

walking down the steps

of a rickety, yellow home

that I hated, every Tuesday and Friday.

My last time

having a sigh escape my lips

as cold wind blows over me

and I’m left standing alone,

as a rickety, yellow home

rides away.

My last time

taking steps,

ten more, counted breaths.

My last time

walking to my real home

with sweat dripping down my forehead

and the sound of those walls

holding me closer.

My last time.

I don’t want to have to say goodbye.

Read the story on VTDigger here: Young Writers Project: ‘June 10’ .