by Nikki Gate
English teacher: Jules Hartley
Copper is dirty bare feet running through freshly dug earth.
Copper is sun kissed, tanned skin after a long day in the sun.
Copper is Pine needles fallen, and strewn across the forest floor.
Copper is the murky lake water lapping against the smooth granite.
Copper is my bit lip and the faint taste of blood residing in my mouth.
Copper is the sound of a stone dropped in water and the white throated sparrow crying in the distance.
It is the sound of my mother's faded lullabyes
Copper is the smell after it rains.
Copper feels like the rough edges of the dock, trying to hoist myself up out of the water, laughing.
Copper the silhouette of pine trees against a fading citrishade.
Copper is my childhood.
Money most never stays in one place, it keeps moving, keeps changing from person to person to person, from the cash register to the five year old allowance to the tip for the waitress, and maybe that's why they say money is so dirty, because we all touch it, we all hand it to the other and no one ever washes it, no ever cleans it, and it fits rather well I think, with how money works, where we all have a greed for our needs and we all feel a little bit better when we can see it sticking up out of our wallets and want more and more and more, and suddenly we're passing it under tables where all the chewed up gum has been stuck.
Money is green. Money is greed. Money is passed. Money is need. From him. To her. To them. To me. We all have money. We all have need. Banks and robbers. Lawyers and suits. Money makes the world. What does it do to you?
I was born in a lighthouse
And I never met my mother
I live on an island with a run-down shack, a lamb, and an imaginary frog.
Oh, and my dad.
And a patch of grass and some sand from the sea.
When I was eight I had a dress with buttons that look like olive halves
But now I’m nine and too old for that.
Now my dresses have zippers and clips and snaps and anything else my hair
can get caught on.
I dream that ships with pretty lights will come to visit my island
And bring a festival with them.
Where women in long dresses wear masks
and dance with long-armed gentlemen
through bonfires. I dream
my mother is one of those women.