Can you pat you head and rub your belly at the same time? Can you chew gum and walk? How about walk and observe and write? Just like how any quirky art teacher from an early 2000s indie film would do, I took the students outside because it was a beautiful and bright day and we wrote “walking poems,” which as the name suggests are simply poems written while walking outside.
Walking Poem
by Cal
7th grade
The outside is light
it’s cold, my face is
freezing. My eyes are
fluttering. I can see my
house
the flowers moving
the clouds look like
they are running.
The people
to the side of me
are talking and moving.
My friend is far.
To me it is cold.
The tree is moving
the dirt is still.
My house is
only a minute away.
My hair is moving.
The stairs seem
rough, the salt below
me looks like rocks.
I see a blue string
on the dark brown
soft soil. I see
parts of the Hale Hawk
sign moving roughly
and hear
birds chirping.
The trees look messed up
it looks like somebody
plucked off all the
leaves quickly. I saw my
cousin waving at me
from the window. He’s gone
I can no longer see his face,
tan skin color,
his medium black hair,
his walking. It’s cold.
My hand is feeling strong.
I see everybody coming
close now. Times over.
Times done. Time to talk
and head back but I
feel crunches by the
others stepping on the grass.
I hear nothing but foot
steps, door opening. A woman
walked passed me. I waved,
she’s sitting on the bench.
I wonder what’s her name?
I see my friend talking. I hear nothing
as I am distances away.
