Badgerblog

For our Spring Holiday Poem Card Contest and in honor of Mother’s Day this Sunday, we asked our 170 Badgerdog writers to wax poetic about the women they call Mom. We received more than 120 poems celebrating the strength, wisdom, and beauty of mothers who sing songs and wash flip flops, mothers with skin so soft and eyes that shine in the sun, mothers who work too hard, and one mother, who, if she were an animal would be a cat. We selected the three poems that moved us most with their artistry, insight, and vision. You can find the first two of these in preceding posts.

Today, we are pleased to announce the contest winner—Siearra at Del Valle Middle School, whose poem “Tiger Mama,” hits on one mother’s toughness, verve, bite, and beauty. Siearra’s poem will be distributed in restaurants across the city, so if you’re taking mom to brunch on Sunday, you may find this beautiful poem—an ode to mothers everywhere—tucked inside your check.

Tiger Mama

She’s like a grasshopper,
hopping in the streets of Hynoon,
eating the guts of insects,
saying, “Clean your room, Siearra!”
She’s like Air Jordans—fresh and tight.
She’s tough as a tiger biker,
always yelling, “Yield!” in the strangest places, like the grocery store.
She’s the Himalayas—courageous and extraordinary, the mountain of wisdom.
She’s always asking me, “How much do you love me, McShorty?”
She loves the taste of dark chocolate.
She’s like poison ivy—contagious in so many ways.

Siearra, seventh grade, Del Valle Middle School

Original artwork by Sarah Meraz.

For our Spring Holiday Poem Card Contest and in honor of Mother’s Day this Sunday, we asked our 170 Badgerdog writers to wax poetic about the women they call Mom. We received more than 120 poems celebrating the strength, wisdom, and beauty of mothers who sing songs and wash flip flops, mothers with skin so soft and eyes that shine in the sun, mothers who work too hard, and one mother, who, if she were an animal would be a cat. We’ve selected the three poems that moved us most with their artistry, insight, and vision, and we’ll be publishing these on the Badgerblog over the next few days. On Wednesday, we’ll announce the winning poem, which will also be distributed in restaurants across the city, so if you’re taking mom to brunch on Sunday, you may find a beautiful piece of poetry—an ode to mothers—tucked inside your check.

Today we present one of our finalists, a poem from Luna at Del Valle Middle School. We were stunned by its depiction of a mother who seems to both obey the rules but defy expectations; she seems to even teeter on invincibility. Congratulations, Luna!

Converse Mum

She’s like a fly,
Always running up and down Dearbonne Drive,
Eating the leftover raw meat.
You better love her.
She loves wearing Converse.
She’s cool, like hot rocks.
She always stops at stop signs.
She’s pretty as a lovely river falling over smooth pebbles.
The way she talks makes me think she was born in the Country of Sarcasm.
Do you love her yet?
She loves the ripe, watery taste of watermelon.
She is a redwood tree.

Luna, seventh grade, Del Valle Middle School

The writing process, in some ways, allows us to bend time, to stretch and remake it, to weave in and out, to revisit and forget. When we commit an event to the page, we make it timeless. When we roll verbs together and mind the rhythms of our words we can spark a sense of motion, of acceleration. But this week’s Badgerdog selection feels almost like a time-out. It holds us in the suspension of a moment, in quiet pause and thought. Congratulations to Elsie from Del Valle Middle School on this stunning prose piece, which communicates powerfully through mood and image.

Time Can’t Tell

I’d step on the wooden fence to look at the same perspective I saw every day. I’d look down and see the kids playing in the dirt. Funny to say, I never got a splinter.

I’d get bored standing there. I’d go and leave my socks on and wet my toes in the puddle after it rained and just sit there, waiting until my mom would call me in to eat with the family.

I’d go where the bikes were sitting. I’d feel the plastic—blue and textured—and I’d look at the glass door and see the smudges and smears of fingerprints. I’d feel relaxed, like time couldn’t stop me from staying or leaving the balcony. I could hear the lawnmowers start up, and I could smell the freshly cut grass. I’d see the red ball we used to play handball and remember its bouncy sound.

Elsie, Del Valle Middle School

Photo courtesy of Lanie Anderson.

Ur legs that look
like they belong 2 a
chicken. Ur legs that
need more meat
on ya’ bones. Ur
short but long legs
that don’t have no
kind of hair on them.
Ur I need 2 join the
track team legs. Ur
thighs as skinny as
tooth picks. Ur dark
black-looking legs.
Ur legs that don’t
really take up that
much space in the
car legs, you know,
the same ones that
will stand up for your
older sisters when
we’re injured legs.

Amber, seventh grade, Del Valle Middle School

It looks like a metal snake I had to tame. It
hissed electric guitar chords, and I liked how
it sounded so I didn’t stop. It had a sour
smell and tasted poisonous. I got the feeling
it was telling me to stop but I was
testing it to see how far I could push before
this venomous reptile would bite me. I was
scared and excited at the same time, kind of
like listening for the lottery numbers late at
night, scared you might lose but excited
there’s a possibility you might win.
When I was done I heard cheering, as if
I’d won a staring contest with death, looking
him dead in the eye, his cold black eyes.

Angel, eighth grade, Del Valle Middle School

The rusted hulk of a car blew up after having hit the tree. The person driving the car rolled out. I poked him with a stick. He was severely burned, but he continued to twitch. I giggled at the irony of the sight, for he was the same man who hit my turtle and little sister a few days before. You see, my little sister had been walking her turtle, Skittleman Franklin, when the inconsiderate son-of-a-biscuit swerved onto the sidewalk and hit them. They were immediately rushed to the emergency room. My sister only had a couple of broken ribs, but, unfortunately, Skittleman died.

I poked the man again. He moaned and continued twitching. As I saw the ambulance approaching, I kicked him a few times in the face (and the ribs, for my sister), jumped on my bike and pedaled away. I decided to buy some cheese to celebrate the avenging of Skittleman Franklin.

Ashley and Andrea, eigth grade, Del Valle Middle School

Photo courtesy of Lisa Solonynko.

It was all a dream to have more than I had.
It was all a dream to see leaves fall in the spring.
It was all a dream to cast spells on those who were rude.
It was all a dream to want what I didn’t need.
It was all a dream to be a kid and become older.
Today I say to you “It was all a dream.”
But if this is true am I a dream or a nightmare?

Amber, sixth grade, Del Valle Middle School