Book Creator

Children Are Invisible Fliers

by Noemi Villaparedes


Children Are Invisible Fliers
Noemí Keila Villaparedes Ley
"For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends."

— Shel Silverstein
Dedicated to children everywhere...

I am on a mission to exterminate pride
because my teacher challenged me to.
She said that I couldn’t;
I promised I would,
and that’s exactly what I planned to do.

And so I walked with my chest 
through the tedious school hall,
determination plastered on my face.

Until a sharp elbow hit me 
On the blade of my shoulder 
and I turned around to see Grace.
She scowled and groaned
“Who do you think you are?’
So I raised my head slightly and said
I’m a dangerous assassin; an undercover spy
Matter of fact, I think I’ll have you dead.
And then I walked off 
victorious and mighty.
What a fool that Grace must be
to think she could even come close to becoming 
as pretty or smart as

And then the people cheered
and hollered my name 
and threw rose petals at my feet 
But my walk was still measured and slow
And- Oh,
what’s that you ask?
Right, pride.
Wait, what does that mean again?
(F = Gm1m2/r2) 0 = Everything

Zero Gravity Zone, the ad read.
It consumed me slowly,
pushing me out of reality
where I sat criss cross applesauce
on my Dora the Explorer blanket;
my bottom sinking into the earth.

I wanted to fly because flying is fun;

not because I anticipated the future.
The pressure on my head and shoulders.
Earth’s cynical pull to it’s fiery core.
The failed attempts of 7.8 billion flyers.

I wanted to fly because 
flying would make Tag, like, so much cooler;

not because I desired to achieve the impossible.
Snap the chain forever.
Hop into a rocket, zoom off into space,
and leave my kind behind.

I wanted to fly because flying meant 

But, now, I never want to because flying is
Only the Falsely Wise Speak in Ciphers
Children is vital 
but one day 
Children will bleed out
she’ll scrape her knee 
playing hopscotch 
on the blacktop
hoping for a band aid
maybe a hug
only to be left with piercing words 
ringing in her ears

Children will sit there 
whole but helpless
cradling his body
in prayers of mercy
looking up at me 
with unknowing eyes
and I’ll turn my back and say
“Children, it’s time to grow up.”

Children is not mine to disrupt
but I do
wielding and warping his mind
desperately trying to rid Children 
of his childness

Children does not speak in ciphers 
that I have to decode
Children speaks 
through megaphones
on top of every landmark
reciting my resolutions
defenselessly awaiting my open fire

Children is unaware of her value
and so am I
unaware of her cement
between our tectonic plates