Hannah Reichel

How Winter Comes . . .

By Hannah Reichel
Dummerston Middle School, Grade 8

Gently, the flurries,
Snow Angels, from winter clouds,
Spread their wings, and freeze.

Charlize steered across the hospital parking lot, stopping for some pedestrians that were crossing. She found a good parking space not far from the entrance, but as had become the ritual, she stopped for a moment to meditate. She thought sadly back to the better times, before Ava’s bad habits had become too inflated and serious. She never had heeded anyone’s advice, and soon she was vanquished, bedridden, and trapped beneath those gaudy sheets in the hospital room. Sighing, she exited the van and walked laboriously toward the entrance. The hospital, despite its peculiar smell, was cosmopolitan, and oddly she was relieved that Ava had made it here, of all places. Lost in thought, she realized she had come to the patient’s room, and quietly opened the door, sliding inside. She looked at Ava’s wan features; Ava’s face so akin to her own. The IV pulsed beside Ava’s bed, transmitting the vital vitamins to her blood.

The ghostly lady,
High up,
Looked down on me,
Her eyes,
A glitter,
Watched movement,
Like the sea.
Then remorse,
In the pale, dead eyes,
Poor mannequin,
In the attic,
Forever inside.

Free Falling

By Hannah Reichel
Dummerston Middle School, Grade 8

When the geese fly south,
A melancholy V,
Or the red squirrels skitter,
Calling "All harvest for me!"
The leaves look down,
From their high-up tree,
Shiver, take a sigh,
Then fall, free.

When the wind blows high,
In the treetops afire,
Orange, yellow, red
Extinguished
Autumn breeze never tires.

Fantasies

By Hannah Reichel
Dummerston Middle School, Grade 7

You and me
Our hands entwined

Have picked dandelions
Spoken of who is kind
Have danced in the fields
To the songs in our head
Have traveled all over
Fought over bread
Have cried all night
Into puddles of fear
Have chuckled long hours
Have worried of something so near
Have dreamed up fantasies
And built our own kingdom
Have read books of adventure
Basked in freedom
Have chased the ladybugs
That were holed up for winter
Have made up songs
Held races to see who's the best sprinter
Have hurt each other's feelings
Then made it up
Have dreamt of being ladies
Wished for a pup.

So much fun we've had
You and me
I don't think it a shame
That you're imaginary!

Are they only dead,
Or surviving to be kept
Always in the minds
Of those they regret
They never told the secret?

Dreams Never Die

The ghost, hovering
A white sillouette, moaning
In the dark hours, roaming
Through the decrepit mansion, haunting
Wishing for the old days, dreaming

Fear is a force, so powerful, it wells up inside me, like water stopped up behind a dam. Then something, like homework, or an accident, an insult, breaks that powerful wall that for this time has held back the flood. The flood of fear, anguish, disgust, self hatred washes over me. Tears, sometimes. I just want to lay, give a fit. But that would be....immature.

Bitterroot

By Hannah Reichel
Dummerston Middle School, Grade 7

Fishing
It reminds me of the sun-kissed, breezy days.
Of the prairie grasses swaying in the wind.
The silent hawk, the chirping sparrows.
The blanket of slippery pine needles scattered by the wind.
It makes me hear the Bitteroot,
see the gold water dancing to the beat, the music of nature.
Oh that music,
so silent, so tranquil, yet so present
As the trees salute to this no-man orchestra
A line is cast
A snag
And a gong, a sudden shock
to this quiescent scene
A fish, a struggle, a flash of silver
Pure silver in the sunlight
Then the glory fades
But not the sun
The waving grasses
The spotless sky
They are not interrupted
Life goes on
In the Bitteroot.

Whim

By Hannah Reichel
Dummerston Middle School, Grade 7

Ever since I was little
I’ve had fleeting images.
I see them with the eyes of one just
seeing
just passing by.
Then this image
one day
appears.
It happens again
and I realize
that I know it,
I’ve seen it before
and then I am no longer just looking.

There was the U-Haul truck
going south on 91
past the cornfields
and I knew this moment
had already been lived

There was the doll
I chose
and looking into her eyes
at her dark chestnut hair
I whispered
because I knew
Carmen
Four months later
there was a call
my cousin was born
a world away in Germany
dark chestnut hair
and round eyes
Carmen

Sometimes
I think it’s just coincidence
sometimes perhaps a day dream
now,
I see mostly fleeting images
light
as a sparrow
There, then not

But in the beginning
I was
maybe three
I told my mom
that her friend
was going to die
in a car accident
a whim
really
I just knew

i know i am the blunt knife
that just cut the string between us
broken
is the happiness that had been there
then
somebody
they tell that i really do know the person
that i know the truth
before i see it
can’t i think
once in a while?
before i speak?
even at my age
i feel as if...
i am
so self centered
no time to think about anyone
but myself
i go
steps like lead