In Pennsylvania, October is a time of brightness and darkness, blazing leaves in shorter days, against a backdrop of gray, brooding skies. You will find that our post for the month -- our first this year -- reflects this juxtaposition, and we hope it might even capture a little of what you are feeling inside as we move through this strange but hopeful year together.
Thank you for being here, for reading our magazine. We hope you like what we produce and curate in the monthly posts right here on Sevenatenine.
Tennis
I, too, dislike it: There are a million more productive pastimes
I would do
rather than wearing down my wrist ligaments.
I could find
a cure for cancer,
I could
write an opera,
Or maybe
just get my homework done.
But no.
Here I am
again, repeatedly hitting a small ball over a weathered net.
But my mind
always reminds of the perks
that bring
my feet back to those green courts.
I love the
buzz that sails through my arm after a great shot.
I love the
smile that sneaks onto my face after my coach gives praise.
I love how I
jump up and slap racquets with my partner
after we win
a strenuous match.
So.
No matter how bright the sun shines,
how tired or weary I feel,
I will still
march right back
onto those
courts and do it all over again.
by Lyla P., Grade 9
Inspired by the poem "Poetry" by Marianne Moore
 |
| Artwork by Jacob D., Grade 9 |
To the Past, Present, and Future
Hey
Kid, we have a goal to accomplish.
No,
a dream sounds more appropriate.
I
promise you I will achieve it for us. Me and you!
See
you soon little guy.
Hey,
present me, you’re making us sad.
The
light of hope you had to achieve the goals we dreamed, is slowly fading,
Why
give up now when we are so close? Please continue for all of us.
Hey!
Thank you so much. We are now grown, achieved what we wanted.
We
never gave up on our goal. Makes me tear up a little, ha-ha!
I’m
returning to my time: 2021. See you soon!
by Beck M., Grade 9
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| Artwork by Isabel D., Grade 8 |
The sun peeked over the mountain side. The river glimmered in the sun stream. The birds chirped a lullaby. The evergreen trees stood tall and proud. I come out to my tree house every morning to paint the sunrise. Sometimes I come out and just look at it for a while. It looks like watercolor floating in the sky. Like someone comes out here every morning to paint it on. The sunrise looks the same every morning but still somehow mesmerizes me. It is as if Mother Nature is telling me that I will be the next painter to paint on the sky every morning, and she is trying to train me for when that day comes.
by Julia N., Grade 8
