One of my writing students said, “Tore toward the stairs” the other day, and I thought it was too precious not to use. Thanks to Read Write Poem for the “play with sounds” prompt (number 68)

TORTURED, THE STAIRS

Eloise blamed the walk and was right.
No one wanted to deal with six flights
up to her loft, the view from her door
of switch-backed steps before
the half-landing where she smoked
and made eyes at the neighbor boy,
then up and up to the attic
that creaked in the sway of wind,
a dent of loneliness in her throat
when nothing came to join her
but the idea that something might.

The following entry comes courtesy of Alice, a fifth-grade student in SE Portland. I’ve been working with Alice for two years – she’s a heck of a writer and has a great mind.

Below I’ve pasted the original skeletons, followed by Alice’s replies.

It’s ________ __________ “___________ ___________” and it’s ___________ __________ __________ “___________”. This is, __________ it’s _________ ___________ the __________! The _________ ___________ _________ the _________ __________ for __________, which _______, “_______ __________.” This is __________ _________ it is to _____________.

Alice writes:

It’s tomorrow buddy “seven days” and it’s today dear that’s “here”. This is, look it’s Safe Chap the hero! The weird dork from the planet Zuok for $4, which says “Yo dude”. This is how fun it is to dream.

When ______ _________ at ______ _________ of ________ ___________ in the ________ _________. ____________ ___________. I _________, “what are __________ ___________ ___________ ___________ ___________?” I _________ I’ll __________ a ____________ of _________ ____________. Then I __________ ___________ _____________ to ____________ ___________, I ___________ in ____________.

Alice writes:

When I cry at night love of life springs in the dark well. I’m desperate. I scream “what are you on these bleak lands?” I swear I’ll cry a river of salty tears. Then I sink down slowly to my knees, I struggle in vain.