Today I saw three children,
they were not much younger than I am –
sixteen, or maybe seventeen years old –
sleeping under an old concrete bridge.
Their shoes lay hapharzardly next to them,
the soles of their tired feet grimy and bare.
I thought of how hard, how unforgiving
the stone must feel beneath their heads.
Then I walked
in clean shoes and socks
into an art museum
to sit leisurely and look at paintings,
to sip some tea and write in my new notebook.
But no matter how hard I stared at oil on canvas,
brush strokes in oranges and pinks,
all I could see was the dirty, grey pavement,
a heavy feeling of guilt
and tired heads resting
in a quiet admission of defeat.
The Young Writers Project provides VPR's audience another avenue to hear and read selections and see visual art and photography from Vermont's young writers and artists. The project is a collaboration organized by Susan Reid at the Young Writers Project. The thoughts and ideas expressed here are the writers' own and do not necessarily reflect those of Vermont Public Radio.
