SATURDAY: FISHING LESSON #4
Our fishing lines reel out.
The sun wheels overhead.
We sit and wait for a nibble,
a bite, a tug on the line.
Quiet time, inside-my-head time,
listening time, looking out—
a leaf spins,
a frog leaps,
tiny shells sink in the mud,
a great blue heron
pinches a fish with its beak.
“Look,”
the water murmurs.
The wind whispers,
“Look, again.”
Chapter 5
FOURTH WEEK: WIGGLE WORMS AND SAND PLUMS
SETTLING IN #2
“Looks like you’re settling in,” Mama says.
Am I?
I have a friend, now.
I get to fish with Grandpa.
I get to help in the library.
But what happened to the girl I used to be?
Mama looks around my room and smiles.
She studies the cups on my shelf.
The flowery teacup that belonged to Grandma.
The cup with my name on it that Daddy found in Kansas City.
The plastic cup with pink poodles that Nose gave me for my birthday.
The green cup with a goldfish hidden inside.
And my favorite cup, the cup Mama gave me,
cracked and broken like a puzzle
because I dropped it.
Carefully, Mama lifts the broken cup from the shelf.
“Do you remember your story, Keet?”
“Yes,” I say. I used to tell the story
to anyone who looked at my cup collection.
The Cup of Midnight Blue
Once I had a beautiful porcelain cup.
The cup was midnight blue, ink blue,
with four gold legs and a tiny picture
of the sea painted on each side.
It was thin and delicate and very old.
Mama gave it to me.
It was my favorite cup.
I used it for my chocolate milk.
I used it for pineapple juice,
and I used it for chamomile tea.
But one day,
while I sip-sip-sipped,
my fingers slipped,
and the cup tipped, toppled, tumbled
down, and broke into pieces.
I felt like purple berry juice spilled in a puddle.
Mama picked the pieces up,
but she didn’t throw them away.
Instead she found a special glue
and glued the cup together
piece by piece by piece.
Then she brought it back to me.
“Isn’t it pretty, Keet?”
“No,” I said.
“But Keet, just because your cup has cracks,
or isn’t perfect like it used to be,
doesn’t mean it can’t be beautiful.”
I didn’t want to believe her.
“It still won’t hold anything,” I said.
“No, not juice, not milk, not tea,” Mama said,
“but maybe a broken cup can hold other things.”
I didn’t think so. “I want another cup,” I said.
“I wish it wasn’t broken.” Wish, wishes,
wishing, I thought. “What if
this were a wishing cup? I could fill it
with wishes. That’s what I’ll do.
It will be the best cup of all.”
It’s our favorite story, but the words won’t come.
I can’t tell it. I feel Mama watching me.
“I think I’ll make a wish,” she says.
“I wish that my parakeet knew how much
I love her and that once she settles in
she’ll tell me stories again. That’s my wish,
Keet-Keet.” She sets the cup back on the shelf.
It is still my favorite cup.
It is still beautiful.
I close my eyes and think
about school and the Keet who used
to talk and tell stories. I make a wish
and drop it deep inside the midnight cup.
TIRED
I hear a deep humming noise
and then a slamming car door.
Daddy’s home! Daddy’s home!
Nose and I run to the door.
Mama says, “Slow down.
Don’t knock him over.”
I grab Daddy around the waist,
and Nose hugs his knees.
Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!
Daddy drives now for a delivery company.
He drives a big truck up and down
the highway and in and out of town.
Sometimes, he has to drive so far away
that we don’t see him for days.
Sometimes, he comes home late at night
tired, tired, and goes to bed.
But sometimes, when it’s not so late,
he says, “Tell me a story, Keet,”
and I curl up on his lap. I squeeze close.
I want to tell him the story about
the time we found the sand plums.
I want to, but I don’t. I can’t be
the story-talking, story-making girl,
telling stories about the things I did
or making stories up.
“I . . . I don’t have a story, Daddy.”
He looks at me.
He doesn’t tease.
He doesn’t ask why.
He just pulls me closer and strokes
my head like he does when I’m sick,
his fingers against my braids, trying
to stroke the troubles away.
KEET’S STORY ABOUT THE SAND PLUMS
“Stop the car!”
Mama sees a grove of sand plums,
ripe plums, round plums,
sand plums for jelly.
Daddy and me,
Nose, and Mama
climb out of the car
and walk through
a grassy ditch
and up a sloping bank.
A grasshopper flutters
and lands on my sock.
I brush it away.
Another grasshopper lands in my hair
and I squeal.
At the top of the slope,
the air around the sand plums
is gnatty and buzzy.
Sunlight spills on our heads
as if we are plums too.
Mama plucks the sand plums
from the twiggy branches.
She hands them to us,
orange-red, and plump, and sun-warm.
If we squeeze too hard, the plums
make our fingers licky with juice.
Mama folds the bottom
of her dress to make a basket
and fills it with ripe sand plums.
She gives me a plum.
I hold it in my hand:
a little sun.
I bite it and feel sunshine
deep down in my stomach.
DEEP INSIDE
This side, that side,
inside, outside,
in the center,
in the middle,
in the midst,
in the muddle of me,
there’s a box—
a heart box
a dream box
a secrets box
with lots of locks.
And only Mama
only Daddy
only Grandpa
only Noah
have a key.
But maybe
I will give one key more,
to Allie-gator,
if she’ll give me a key
to the box
the heart box
the thoughts box
the this-is-what-I-feel box
the box with locks
in the center,
in the midst,
in the middle-middle
&nb
sp; muddle of her.
ALLIE-GATOR SAYS
I like her.
I like her flippy floppy braids.
I like the way she makes me laugh.
I like the funny way she talks.
I like when she tells me stories about her grandpa.
I like when she tells me stories about Alabama,
where she used to live.
I like when she talks about her grandma,
who’s not alive anymore.
I like that she likes stars, ice cream, bicycles,
monkey bars, sidewalk chalk, cups,
chocolate chip cookies, funny socks, hats,
jumping rope, and
peanutbutterdillpickle sandwiches.
I like when she finds feathers to add to my collection.
I like that she said my house was nice, even
though it’s not as nice as hers.
I like the way she laughed and laughed and laughed
when Molly Cockatoo said Hullo!
What cha doing? Hullo! What cha doing?
I like that she doesn’t make fun of my crooked
snaggletooth, my pointy tooth, my chipped tooth,
my cracked and jagged puzzle-tooth
or my alligator smile.
I like the Me I see in her deep-water eyes.
KEET SAYS
I like her.
I like going to her house.
I like climbing trees and scraping our knees.
I like that she likes spaghetti and big fat meatballs.
I like when she lets me taste horchata, her mother’s cinnamon
rice milk.
I like when she tells me about her abuela, her grandma,
who lives with her.
I like that she likes my daddy because her daddy’s
not alive anymore, which makes me sad.
I like that she likes birds, chocolate cake, drawing, swings,
big boxes of crayons, rocking chairs, bracelets, the color
blue, blowing bubbles, firecrackers, and volleyball.
I like that she draws and makes all kinds of things with paper,
even paper beads.
I like when she lets me hold Molly Cockatoo
and feed her grapes.
I like when she comes to my house and talks to my mother.
I like when Nose asks her 100 billion questions about birds
and she answers every one.
I like that she doesn’t like math.
I like that she has a goldfinch feather, robin feather, hawk
feather, blue jay feather, wren feather, chicken feather,
goose feather, and even a peacock feather.
I like that f-r-i-e-n-d is a hard word to spell,
but Allegra spells it: K-a-t-h-a-r-e-n.
YOU CAN’T SPELL IT, ALLIE-GATOR
Keet:
I’ll make you a bet, Allie-gator.
Allie-gator:
You won’t win.
Keet:
Yes, I will. I found a really hard word this time.
Allie-gator:
If I can spell it, I get a story like you used to tell your Alabama friends.
Keet:
If I win, I get to feed Molly a bag of peanuts, hold her for as long as I want to, and teach her to say my name.
Allie-gator:
Uh-uh, just a bag of peanuts.
Keet:
All right, a big bag of peanuts. But you have to spell preposterous.
Allie-gator:
You’re using your Alabama voice to make it harder.
Keet:
Yup!
KEET’S SCARY STORY FOR ALLIE-GATOR
Late one night,
I watched
a really, really, super scary
ghost story on TV.
I was all by myself,
in the basement,
eating popcorn,
and watching
the lady ghost
who lived in an old house
and oozed through the door
and scared everyone.
Then I went upstairs
to get another glass
of apple-orange juice
with lots of ice.
The lights were low,
and only the spooky-ghosty
blue light
from the TV
was shining.
I put my foot on the first step
to go up the stairs.
Eeeechhhhh.
Was that noise behind me?
I turned around.
All I saw
was the dark, dark
basement
with the blue-ghosty
light from the TV.
I took a step
and another step.
Eeechhhh.
I pushed my foot on top of the step:
no sound.
I pushed my foot really hard
on the step: no sound.
I looked behind me
in the dark, dark basement.
I looked at the blue and spooky,
blue and ghosty light
from the TV.
I took a step
and then another step
Eechhhhhh.
Something was behind me.
I knew it!
Something was following me.
I just knew it!
It was the ghost woman
from the TV.
I knew it, just knew it!
I raised my foot to get ready to run.
I raised my leg to race up the stairs.
I took a step. Then I heard it,
and then I knew!
Eechhhhhh.
My knee!
My knee creaked.
My knee squeaked like a rusty door!
I had a spooky-ghosty knee:
Eechhhhhh.
SLEEPOVER
1.Pajamas on and fuzzy slippers,
2.Chocolate cookies, chocolate milk,
3.Homework finished,
4.(Even math),
5.Fingernail polish for twenty toes,
6.A rap song, a TV show,
7.Drawing pictures,
8.Potato stamps,
9.Laugh so hard your stomach cramps,
10. Play Monopoly,
11. Play Go Fish,
12. Baby brother—such a nuisance!
13. Blowing bubbles,
14. Milk and cookies,
15. Milk mustache,
16. Putting on my funny hats,
17. Practice handstands on the mats,
18. Try on lipstick,
19. Try on rings,
20. What if we had magic wings?
21. More cookies, more milk,
22. Pink ice cream and pillow fight,
23. Laughter rising like a kite,
24. Mama turns out all the lights,
25. Girl giggles: ark! ark!
26. Telling stories in the dark,
27. Shadow fingers on the wall,
28. Daddy’s warning, our last call,
29. Little brother, little sneak squeezing in beneath our sheet.
Good night, Allie-gator.
Good night, Keet.
Good night, Nose.
Now go to sleep!
LOUD
Too loud
the alarm clock.
Too loud
the sun.
Too loud
Mama calling,
“Get up,
everyone.”
Too loud
the words,
“Keet, it’s time
for school.”
Too loud
my yawn.
Too loud.
Too loud.
Where has
nighttime gone?
HALLWAY ELEPHANTS
After the bell, we come rumbling,
racing, and stomping down the hall,
herding through the doorways,
trumpeting our calls,
romping wit
h giggles, with gossip,
and now and then a shout,
pushing and tumbling everyone all about.
The walls bounce and echo
with every kind of loud:
locker slams, book whams,
lunchbox flops and bags that pop,
heels sliding to a stop,
cell phones ringing, singers singing.
Until the teacher claps and shouts,
“Quiet, quiet, quiet!”
This isn’t the Serengeti.
This isn’t a circus tent.
But not a one of us seems
to know what the teacher meant.
PENCIL SONG
When the room is quiet,
if I press my ear
to my desk,
I hear my pencil
slide, scrape, stutter.
I can hear
the pencil humming
and rolling my words
along,
slipping and pushing
its lead like the tongue
of a new kid at school
saying words
with difficult letters,
practicing the sounds
over and over
trying to get them right,
to make them slip
from the lip, smooth and swift,
like everybody else.
KEET’S SCIENCE EXPERIMENT: WORM WATCH
1.Gently place the worm’s body on the wax paper in the tray. Observe the worm’s movements.
Poor worm
twist
thrash
wiggle
thump
Poor, poor worm
2.Use the hand lens to study the worm. Describe its body.
Long, pencil-thin, a whip of skin, a soft twistytwig, a rubber band stretching,
reaching, shrinking. Segmented rings on a rubbery tube, wiry hairs, pointy
at the end, plump in the middle, a tiny vacuum cleaner hose.
3.Sprinkle a layer of soil on top of the wax paper. Place the worm on the soil. Observe the worm’s movements.
I glide.
I stretch. I slide. How easily
I grip the dirt with my spiky hairs. How easily
I plow and push and mine. How easily I move
from here to there.
4.What conclusions can you reach from your experiment?
Catching a Storyfish Page 5