A Stellar Flare of Young Adult Writing and Visual Art

nobody wonders nor asks if the streets hide a wood + Two More




nobody wonders nor asks if the streets hide a wood


nobody wonders nor asks if the streets hide a wood−

maybe the asphalt is a sponge and one day, when it cracks and

we are all gone and faded away into dust that none can see

bar a tiny little cockroach,

trees will sprout through the holes and spread their wings

and blanket this misshapen sphere in the color of prosperity again.




Some cars run on gasoline others, electricity but I know one that runs on ethanol. I’d say it makes him a different car it makes him kind of variable in performance sometimes smooth and lovely and other times spewing forth…it’s an alternative energy not the usual way you’d see cars drive but it does work for him mostly. he says that it’s no big deal! lots of cars drive with ethanol these days! it’s not like it’s abnormal!! he really does guzzle that ethanol though. I wish he’d stop but he says that it’s a part of him he can’t run without it. I am worried we are all so worried but he isn’t he downs one more and one more and one more and I can’t count how many anymore and I take him away but he keeps going back nothing can stop my little car he just keeps driving and driving and driving his family calls me all the time to check up on him because we are so close and they are so far away they say “are you taking care of him?” and I say yes Because I can’t just tell them that I can’t do anything for him anymore. I think they’d be a little bit upset with me if I told them that their little car is Dying.




Umma never comes home I’m afraid my grades will drop they seem to be dangling by a thread without Umma’s help I don’t know what I’m even doing anymore since there’s no Umma at home to watch me do my math homework, I just don’t do my work and it’s really hurting me people wonder why everything about me is dropping dropping dropping; I say it’s my fault because Umma will lose face I don’t want Umma’s friends and my family to know that her single daughter is a total failure who will never test into a single good university I will be on the streets; maybe I will be an artist; a horrible idea because that would shame Umma more than that she’d never be happy with that. I’m lost I’m tired I’m cold and scared. I need Umma to tell me what to do. I just want her to rise up again from beneath the soft grass.


About the Author

Patricia Tang has a passion for writing, and has shown versatility in her work, writing both fiction and nonfiction pieces. Notable accomplishments include writing blog posts about social justice for a California-based nonprofit, winning second prize in Creative Fiction in Hypertext Magazine’s Young Writers Contest, and winning Silver Keys in the west region of the Scholastic Art and Writing Contest for her poetry. In addition, Patricia is also an accomplished violist: she has appeared on NPR’s From the Top, and has performed frequently at Davies Symphony Hall as part of the San Francisco Symphony Youth Orchestra and at the San Francisco Conservatory of Music as part of its Pre-college Division.


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This entry was posted on November 19, 2016 by in Poetry and tagged , , , , , .
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