Keesha's House (9 page)

I've always loved the creatures of the world and the words that describe them. My love of writing began as soon as I could hold a stubby crayon, and it grew with me as I entered my adult life—I don't recall any one moment of realization that writing would be my primary life work.

And in particular, what drew you to poetry?

Poetry moves through things of the world, into ideas, emotions, and deep connections. It drew me to itself.

What sparked your imagination for
Keesha's House
?

Although the characters in
Keesha's House
are fictional, I spent many hours, in many places, listening with deep respect to teens who were struggling with hard problems. This led me to imagine a place where they might find help and support. Then the characters moved in and came to have lives of their own as the story took shape in my mind.

What do you want readers to remember about your books?

Something beautiful and true that they find in the language.

Is there anything specific you would like readers to pull from this book?

I hope my readers will know that they are seen and appreciated, whoever they are, whatever their own life experience.

Which of the characters in
Keesha's House
is most like you?

There's something of myself in each character:

Like Harris, I sometimes feel that I live in the world differently than most people.

Like Katie, if someone is hurting me, I walk away from them.

Like Stephie, I'm determined to make my own decisions, even when people who love me question those decisions. (This was more true when I was a teenager than it is now.)

Like Carmen, I've made some big mistakes and learned from them.

Like Jason, I sometimes have to make decisions that require me to balance my career with my responsibility to those I love.

Like Dontay, I'm at my best in an atmosphere of genuine acceptance.

Like Keesha, I've learned that sometimes it's not possible to prevent something bad from happening to someone I love. And also like Keesha, it's easier for me to help others than to ask for help when I need it.

It seems to me that most readers respond to the book in this way—finding something of themselves in each of the characters. When the characters' voices are linked in the final crown of sonnets, readers may feel these different aspects of themselves coming together in friendship, as the characters do.

A NEW POEM FOR READERS OF
KEESHA'S HOUSE

A SLOW STEP

If some night you walk down a street

so deep inside a chorus of sad voices

that you cannot—simply can't—look up,

and it all seems impossible,

too late, unforgivable and no way out;

if you've already walked right past

whatever light there is: see if you can

let one foot come to rest on a smooth stone—

can you feel the ancient warmth

pressed into it? Take another step,

a slow step, another,

              another,

                             and another.

 

This poem was published, with an accompanying photograph, in an e-book anthology that can be found by putting these words into a search engine: “Poetry Tag Time for Teens, Sylvia Vardell and Janet Wong, Editors.”

TRY WRITING A TRITINA

Have you tried writing a sestina? I know you can do it, and I think you'll enjoy trying.

But if you think the sestina is too much of a challenge, here's a form you could try first.

A “tritina” is something like a sestina, but with three endwords instead of six.

TRITINA FORM

*Ten-line poem

*Three three-line stanzas and one one-line stanza.

*The endwords (last words in the lines) repeat in this pattern:

____________________ Word A

____________________ Word B

____________________ Word C

____________________ Word C

____________________ Word A

____________________ Word B

____________________ Word B

____________________ Word C

____________________ Word A

____________________ Words A, B, and C

(Use all three words in the last line.)

Note: An example of a tritina, along with examples of twenty-three other poetic forms, and descriptions of the forms, can be found in my book
Spinning Through the Universe,
also published by Frances Foster Books/Farrar Straus Giroux. Work sheets of some of the forms can be found on my Web site:
helenfrost.net
.

 

Twelve-year-old Willow stumbles upon disaster when she mushes a dog team to her grandparents' house.

Can an unusual set of friends make things right again?

Read on to read an excerpt from

Diamond Willow

by
HELEN FROST
.

 

In

the

middle

of my family

in the middle of

a middle-size town

in the middle of Alaska,

you will
find
middle-size,

middle-kid,
me
. My father

teaches science in the middle

of my middle school. My mother

is usually in the middle of my house.

My brother, Marty, taller and smarter

than I ever hope to be, goes to college in

big-city Fairbanks. My sister, Zanna (short

for Suzanna), is six years younger and

twelve inches shorter than I am.

She follows me everywhere—

except for the dog yard.

I don't know why

my little sister is

so scared of

dogs.

 

What

I love

about dogs:

They don't talk

behind your back.

If they're mad at you,

they bark a couple times

and get it over with. It's true

they slobber on you sometimes.

(I'm glad
people
don't do that.) They

jump out and
scare
you in the dark. (I know,

I should say
me
, not “you”—some people aren't

afraid of anything.) But dogs don't make fun

of you. They don't hit you in the back

of your neck with an ice-covered

snowball, and if they did, and

it made you cry, all their

friends wouldn't stand

there laughing

at you.

(Me.)

 

Three

votes! Did they

have to announce that?

Why not just say,
Congratulations

to our new Student Council representative,

Richard Olenka
.
Why
say how many votes each

person got (12, 7, 3)? I
don't
know why I decided to

run in the first place. A couple
people
said I should,

and I thought, Why not? (I don't
like
staying after

school, and no one would listen to
me
even if

I did have anything to say, which I don't.)

Now here I am, home right after school,

and as soon as we finish feeding

the dogs, Dad says,
Willow,

could you help me clean

out the woodshed?

I say,
Okay,
but

it feels like

I'm getting

punished

for being

a loser.

 

We're

cleaning

the woodshed,

and I lift up a tarp.

An old gray stick falls out.

Just a stick.
Why
does it even catch

my eye?
Dad, what
is
this?
I turn it over in

my hands a few times;
Dad
studies it for a couple

minutes, and then he gets
so excited
he almost pops.

Willow, let me tell you
about
this! What you have

found is more than just
an old
stick. This is the

diamond willow
stick
I found that afternoon,

just before you were born! Can it be—

let's see—twelve years ago already?

All this time, I thought it was lost.

He hands it back to me like it's

studded with real diamonds.

This belongs to you now.

Use your sharpest knife

to skin off the bark.

Find the diamonds.

Polish the whole

thing. It will

be beautiful,

Dad says.

You'll

see.

 

I

came

out here to

the mudroom

so I could be alone

and make a mess while I

think my own thoughts and

skin the bark off my stick. But it's

impossible to be alone in this house.

Mom:
Willow, don't use that sharp knife

when you're mad.
I say,
I'm not mad, Mom,

just leave me alone!
and she looks at me like

I proved her point. Then, on my very next cut,

the knife slips and I rip my jeans (not too bad;

luckily, Mom doesn't seem to notice). Maybe I

should go live with
Grandma
. I bet she'd let me

stay out there with her
and Grandpa
. She could

homeschool me. I
think
I'd do better in math if

I didn't worry about how
I'm
going to get a bad

grade while Kaylie gets her
perfect
grades on

every test, then shows me her stupid paper,

and asks how I did, and, if I show her,

offers to help me figure out where

I went wrong, “so you can

do better next time,

Willow.”

 

I

want

to mush

the dogs out

to Grandma and

Grandpa's. By myself.

I know the way. I've been

there about a hundred times

with Dad and Mom, and once

with Marty when he lived at home.

Their cabin is close to the main trail.

I know
I'm not
going to get lost, and I

won't see
a baby
moose or any bears this

time of year. Even if I did, I'd know enough

to get out of the way, fast. But Mom and

Dad don't seem to see it this way. What

do they think will happen? Dad at least

thinks about it:
She's twelve years old;

it's twelve miles. Maybe we could

let her try.
Mom doesn't

even pause for half a

second before

she says,

No

!

 

Maybe

they'll let me go

if I just take three dogs,

and leave three dogs here for Dad.

I'd take Roxy, of course—she's smart

and fast and she thinks the same way I do.

Magoo is fun. He doesn't have much experience,

but if I take Cora, she'd help Magoo settle down.

Dad would want one fast dog.
I'll
leave Samson

here with him. Lucky might
try
to get loose

and follow me down the trail
again
, like

the last time we left her, but this time

Dad will be here to help Mom

get her back. Prince can be

hard to handle; it will be

easier without him.

If Dad sees how

carefully I'm

thinking this

through, he

might help

convince

Mom.

 

I

beg

Mom:

Please!

I'd only take

three dogs. You know

I can handle them. You've

seen me.
She won't listen.
You

are not old enough,
she says.
Or

strong enough.
I make a face (should

not have done that). Mom starts in:
A moose

will charge at three dogs as fast as it will charge

at six. A three-dog team can lose the trail, or pull you

out onto thin ice. What if your sled turns over, or you lose

control of the team?
(
Mom
really goes on and on once she gets

started.)
Willow, you
could be
alone out there with a dog fight