Rich by Nikki Grimes

Author:Nikki Grimes [Grimes, Nikki]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781101613177
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2009-10-29T04:00:00+00:00

Poetry Contest

“So, you signed up for the poetry contest,” Dyamonde said to Damaris.

“Uh-huh. Didn’t you?”

Dyamonde shook her head. “I’m not very good at poetry.”

“I love it. I write poems all the time,” said Damaris. “I’d do the contest even if there wasn’t any money to win.”

“Really?” From the way the girl’s face lit up, Dyamonde be-lieved her.

“I’ve got a bunch of poems already. Want to see?” said Damaris. She pulled out her notebook before Dyamonde could even answer. The book was filled with page after page of poems. There were hardly any blank pages left.

“Wow,” said Dyamonde.

As Dyamonde read her poems, Damaris did something funny with her face. The corners of her mouth turned up, and the top row of her teeth appeared. Damaris was smiling! Dyamonde had never seen her do that before.

“What are you going to write about for the contest?” asked Dyamonde.

Damaris shrugged. “I have abso-tively, posi-lutely no idea.”

“Huh?”

“Absolutely, positively,” said Damaris. “I just switched the words around a little. I like to play with words. That’s what poetry is, anyway. Playing with words.”

“If you say so,” said Dyamonde, scratching her head.

“Anyway,” said Damaris, “the contest only gives you three topics to choose from, so I’ll have to pick one.”

“What are they?”

Damaris counted them off on her fingers. “Nature. Make-believe. And home.” She whispered the last word, like it was extra-special.

“You should write about home,” said Dyamonde.

“How can I? It’s not like my family has one, remember?”

“Yeah, but you could write about where you live now.”

“What? Write about living in a shelter so people could laugh at me? No, thank you.”

“No!” said Dyamonde. “Look: where you live is different from where everybody else lives, so your poem would be different too. And everybody knows it’s good to be different in a contest.” Dyamonde was absolutely sure she was right. Wasn’t she always?

Damaris shut her poetry notebook and put it away. Her smile was gone now.

“You promised you wouldn’t tell anybody where I live,” whispered Damaris.

“I didn’t!” said Dyamonde.

“You promised!” said Damaris. “Now you want me to write about it so everybody will know? Forget it!” Damaris stomped off. Dyamonde ran after her.

“What did I do?” asked Dyamonde.

“Quit following me!” Damaris snapped.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry for making you so mad.”

“Fine,” said Damaris. But she still looked pretty mad to Dyamonde.

Dyamonde jumped in front of Damaris to keep her from running away.

“My mom says people laugh at other people ’cause they don’t know better,” said Dyamonde. “Maybe if they knew what it was like to live in a shelter, they wouldn’t laugh. You could be the one to tell them,” said Dyamonde. “In a poem.”

Damaris listened. Her angry face melted away.

“I don’t know,” said Damaris. “Maybe.”

Both girls were quiet for a mo-ment. They sat down on a bench and turned their faces up to the sun, closing their eyes.

“How come you live in a shelter, anyway?” asked Dyamonde.

With her eyes still closed, Damaris sighed. “My mom was working two jobs and she lost one of ’em. She got late on the rent, so they threw our stuff on the sidewalk and said we had to go.

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