by Pat Mora
the teacher who embarrassed him
last spring, and he turned so red
everyone called him Tomato for a day,
the way my dad frowns
when my friend comes to the door,
my new shoes he likes
because they remind him of green apples.
We watch other couples
and feel happy that now we belong
to the world of twos,
laughing at dogs chasing their tails,
and kids licking their dribbling
ice cream cones,
and we buy two and share our different tastes,
the cool wonder of peach and pistachio,
and discuss whether I should be a dancer
or a doctor,
whether we should go to the same college,
and how we could study for hours
and then go out for pizza,
half cheese and half pepperoni.
We talk about going to a movie now,
and I think about his shoulder
next to mine and touching
his hand when we share popcorn,
holding hands when we stroll home,
almost floating in the warm night, and look up
together
at the dreamy moon.
Mysterious
My paper shines
white, like snow,
but the paper looks empty.
I could decorate it
with tiny spiders
or stars or sketches of me
looking at a blank page,
but the clock ticks, and
somehow I must write.
I like the sight
of untouched snow.
Gentle, slow, silent,
it drifts and swirls,
layers itself, and I see
a new world of mysterious,
inviting shapes. I walk in its white
whispers, susurrus.
I drift
back to this paper that feels
hard on the desk, and I begin
to listen—
to the story I tell myself.
The paper is a white, patient place,
my private space
for remembering,
saving: spring sun on my face,
venting and inventing,
arguing with my mother,
wondering: who am I,
wandering through cobwebs of old dreams,
crying, sighing at people who don’t see me,
hoping to write music so blue
listeners forget to breathe,
playing the sounds, jamming with myself,
changing
into the me I can’t quite see.
Ode (OHD, from the Greek word meaning “song”): A praise form originally intended to be sung. The Chilean poet Pablo Neruda created short-lined, nonrhyming odes that sang the wonders of ordinary objects such as a bee and salt.
Ode to Teachers
I remember
the first day,
how I looked down,
hoping you wouldn’t see
me,
and when I glanced up,
I saw your smile
shining like a soft light
from deep inside you.
“I’m listening,” you encouraged us.
“Come on!
Join our conversation,
let us hear your neon certainties,
thorny doubts, tangled angers,”
but for weeks I hid inside.
I read and reread your notes
praising
my writing,
and you whispered,
“We need you
and your stories
and questions
that like a fresh path
will take us to new vistas.”
Slowly, your faith grew
into my courage
and for you—
instead of handing you
a note or apple or flowers—
I raised my hand.
I carry your smile
and faith inside like I carry
my dog’s face,
my sister’s laugh,
creamy melodies,
the softness of sunrise,
steady blessings of stars,
autumn smell of gingerbread,
the security of a sweater on a chilly day.
Oda (OH-dah, palabra de origen griego que significa “canción”): Una forma de poesía que elogia. El poeta chileno Pablo Neruda creó una serie de odas compuestas de líneas cortas, sin rima, que celebran los aspectos maravillosos de objetos comunes como la abeja y la sal.
Oda a las maestras
Me acuerdo
del primer día,
como bajé los ojos
con la esperanza
de que no me viera,
y cuando los alcé,
vi su sonrisa
brillando como una luz suave
desde su interior.
“Los estoy escuchando,” nos animaba.
“¡Ándenle!
Participen en nuestra conversación.
Déjenos oír sus certezas como luces de neón,
sus dudas espinosas, sus enojos embrollados”,
pero durante semanas me escondí en mí misma.
Leí y releí sus notitas
elogiando
lo que escribía,
y usted susurraba:
“Te necesitamos.
Necesitamos tus cuentos
y tus preguntas
que, como un fresco sendero,
nos llevarán a vistas nuevas”.
Poco a poquito su fe
me dio valor
y para usted—
en lugar de ofrecerle
una nota o una manzana o unas flores—
alcé la mano.
Llevo su sonrisa
y su fe conmigo como llevo
la carita de mi perro,
la risa de mi hermana,
las melodías románticas,
la ternura del amanecer,
las bendiciones constantes de las estrellas,
el aroma otoñal del pan de jengibre,
la seguridad de un suéter en un día frío.
Song: A poetic form designed to be set to music.
My Song
So many memories,
and I’m still young.
So many dreams,
my song’s just begun.
Sometimes I hear
my private melody grow,
then the sound vanishes,
but returns, I now know.
I’ve heard my heart break;
wounded, I’ve felt alone,
but slowly I learned
to thrive on my own.
I want to keep learning,
to deepen my song;
in whatever I work,
may my best self grow strong.
It’s still the morning,
the green spring of my life.
I’m starting my journey,
family and friends at my side,
my song inside,
and love as my guide.
My family wonders
where I will go.
I wonder too.
I long to discover
how to protect the earth, our home,
hear world sisters and brothers,
who feel so alone.
Heart and hands open
to those close and those far,
a great family circle
with peace our lodestar.
No child should be hungry.
All children should read,
be healthy and safe,
feel hope, learn to lead.
It’s still the morning,
the spring of my life.
I’m starting my journey,
family and friends at my side,
my song inside,
and love as my guide.
I’ll take wrong turns
and again los
e my way.
I’ll search for wise answers,
listen, study, and pray.
So many memories,
and I’m still young.
So many dreams;
my own song has begun.
I’ll resist judging others
by their accents or skin,
confront my life challenges,
improve myself within.
Heeding my song—
for life’s not easy or fair—
I’ll persist, be a light,
resist the snare of despair.
Mysteriously,
I’ve grown to feel strong.
I’m preparing to lead.
I’m composing my song.
It’s still the morning,
the spring of my life.
I’m starting my journey,
family and friends at my side,
my song inside,
and love as my guide.
Acknowledgments
Thanks to Texas librarian Pat Strawn, who proposed this book idea; to my friend, the poet and professor John Drury, for his enthusiasm and for suggestions that always improve my work; and to Pat Smith and the Texas Library Association for their support through the years. Thanks, too, to senior designer Melissa Nelson and assistant editor Allison Wortche.
About the Author
Pat Mora is the award-winning author of many books. Her books for adults include six acclaimed poetry collections, an essay collection, and a family memoir, House of Houses. Pat received a poetry fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts and subsequently served as a fellowship judge. She also was awarded a Kellogg National Leadership Fellowship and has received two honorary doctorates.
Two of Pat’s picture books were illustrated by Raul Colón: Doña Flor: A Tall Tale About a Giant Woman with a Great Big Heart, an ALA Notable Book that garnered a Pura Belpré Narrative Honor citation and the Golden Kite Award; and Tomás and the Library Lady, winner of the Tomás Rivera Mexican American Children’s Book Award. Pat, a literacy advocate, is the founder of the family literacy initiative El día de los niños/El día de los libros, Children’s Day/Book Day. A former consultant, museum director, university administrator, and teacher, Pat, the mother of three adult children, is a popular speaker throughout the United States. She is a native of El Paso, Texas, and lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico. To learn more about Pat and her literacy initiatives, please visit www.patmora.com.
THIS IS A BORZOI BOOK PUBLISHED BY ALFRED A. KNOPF
Copyright © 2010 by Pat Mora
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Alfred A. Knopf, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
Knopf, Borzoi Books, and the colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Visit us on the Web! www.randomhouse.com/teens
Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at www.randomhouse.com/teachers
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Mora, Pat.
Dizzy in your eyes : poems about love / by Pat Mora. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
eISBN: 978-0-375-89601-9
1. Love—Juvenile poetry. 2. Love poetry, American. 3. Young adult poetry, American. I. Title.
PS3563.O73D59 2010
811′.54—dc22
2009004300
Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
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