I do not remember
The first word I wrote,
The first word I learned,
The first word I spoke,
But I do know the characters
That ran as my words flew on my paper
The words that meant more
The words that spoke more
The silly stories,
The terrible stories,
The meaningful stories,
I love them all
They carried me on closer —
Closer, so that I could taste my dream
It tastes sweet like honey
Strong like wine
Yet delicate
So I don’t get drunk
It tastes unique and pure
Pure like the water racing down my cheeks
As my smile widens —
Wider and wider until my face hurts
Yet I still do not remember
The first word I wrote,
The first word I learned,
The first word I spoke,
But I do know
That I love you
Hold me tight —
Don’t you ever let me go
See you on my paper,
Maria Harb
Grade: 9
Germantown, MD
Silver Spring, MD
John Steinbeck
Become a writer
My mother