The smallest part which I feel: You see, they're both a bit of a poet, and you did not know it! Right?

As some of you have already heard me proudly crow about, last month, Hannah and Brooklyn were selected as winners in a state-wide poetry competition sponsored by the Utah Arts Council. Out of about 1500 entries, our very own bracitas were chosen as two of sixty winners among 1st through 12th graders throughout Utah. I thought I should post their entries so you can see them for yourselves.

Hannah received a Special Recognition award for the 11-12th grade category. She was one of only twelve 11-12th graders to win. Here is her poem:

A Prayer for Fall

I want to go at the exact moment I have nothing
to leave, no plan about to hatch, no passport
unstamped, no fist of bills crouched in some coat pocket

I want to leave no book beside my bed
half-read, no conversation cut short, no letters in limbo
no kiss to still be savored

I can't abandon the three unfinished journals
and one fresh-hatched; I cannot leave a relationship
unresolved, or one just resolved

I cannot go in the spring with months of flowers
and frost-free windshields ahead
nor when pools lie undisturbed and cartoon blue

May be, Grace of God, I can go
when browned leaves kneel cloistered round the roots
of trees
their heads bowed in surrender.

We also recently learned that Hannah won 4th place in a creative essay competition held by the English department at BYU. Is she awesome or what?

Here's Brooklyn's entry. She won first place among all 9-10th graders in Utah. We think she's pretty dang awesome too.

Deer Creek Reservoir: August 14, 2009

Fishing is not a sport,
unless patience is a sport,
unless long-suffering is a sport,
unless bearing the wrath of a tempestuous god is a sport.

Pulling soggy seaweed from a propeller is not a test
of physical prowess. Sitting in a splintering boat
slowly filling with rainwater, balancing an umbrella
and a pole, these are not competitive skills;
they are tests of moral rectitude.

Perhaps fishing is a religion.

Certainly, inveterate anglers
can bear all things,
believe all things,
hope all things,
endure all things.

Which leads them to drag their daughters
into drippy dinghies, undo the snags,
untangle knots, hook worms, and suffer
in silence when their girls twitch
and drive the hook into their thumb.

Because they have fished long enough
to master the virtues of fishing,
Faith and Hope will make them stay
to evening's last light.
What they're learning now
is Charity.