What The Mirror Said

This week we read “Mirror,” in which Sylvia Plath turns the poem itself into a mirror, and deploys her sniper-like precision, as always. Continuing our discussion of identity, we wondered about what the objects in our homes might have to say about us. Read on!

Ms. Asvos
7th Grade

Emily P.

I am slightly cracked from being here so long
my skin chipping in the corners and along the bottom.
I am leaned against and bumped into
painted and prettied over and over again
I am a protector against storms and cold and wild things.

On the inside I have many tangled wires and beams.
Sometimes I hear new people and they lean on me, too.
Things are hung on me and nails are driving through.
And sometimes they fall off.
I am an object of abuse,
being hit when something goes wrong
but I get my revenge, hitting
funny bones and stubbing toes.
But I am strong
And I will stand.

Celina D.

I am shiny, and sometimes soft
I show the dark and bright
It is part of,
To throw out the light sometimes
or break

I am pink, or sometimes blue,
with beads and lots of sparkles
Day after day, When I’m on, I can see everything
from the quiet to the loud,
and the happy to the proud.

Denita H.

I am small and slender. I carry flowers
I sit on top of a glass plate
No one notices me only what I hold
I have no name might as well be unknown
I see people walk past me
Other times I stare at the door
I hear the voice of the door as it opens
I always wait for the time of day
When the lady changes my flowers

Now am the ground. Lady walk on me
I am irrelevant to the lady who walks upon me
The lady walks without a care in teh world
She comes and goes
She awards me by watering me
I am important to the flowers
Each morning the same lady comes and sits
In me the new flowers grow
Growing and growing because of the lady

Louis S.

I am there but not there
Everyday I see the world
I am the portal between in and out
Never do I know if I am being looked at,
or if its what’s past me that gets the attention.

The more people use me,
The harder it gets to see
Through finger prints, scratches, and debris
Sometimes, I am sad to say, I feel neglected
And rejected at night
They throw curtains and shades in my way
It just doesn’t feel right!
I can’t wait until the next sunny day.

Ms. Foley
8th Grade

The Transporter
Niko C.

Round, sleek, fast tires
Last time I checked, I have drivers.
One was good, the female, but the other not so much
The accident was brutal,
two weeks at the repair shop

I carry precious cargo, they weigh little,
and are followed by the parents
I take them to school, and home, almost everyday
Today is no different, I am driving home,
The driver is riding a bit too fast

Matt C.

A little box of magic,
that’s what I am.
I give you power, strength,
You talk to people 1,000 miles away
Without thinking twice
about what it takes to connect.

I hear gossip, tragedy, plans,
conversations, threats, and messages,
And yet, people say I’m plagued
by robotic messages.
How else am i to tell you
I can hear you.

I am a GOD!
You need ME!
With your blogging, texting,
social media, blah blah BLAH!
I am a gift,
and you have abused my gift.

Glow in the Dark Star
Monnaf H.

I am a smart shade of green
Giving off light as bioluminescence
I can see everything, whether light or dark
Sometimes a strange being comes through a portal
I wouldn’t know, I come from the far reaches of the galaxy
No dark can pierce my lighting but I cannot brighten up anything
Stuck with a strong adhesive, I am immobilized
For I am happy that way, if it were not for the adhesive, I would fall

Kaela G.

I watched the children grow up,
all three of them.
I watched them grow old,
all five of them.
I hold images of them,
like time standing still.

I hold a memory of many symbols,
of no regrets,
and no resents,
and of no fear.
I sand still, reflecting them,
all so naive,
all so innocent.

But standing here now,
I see them keep growing,
and keep growing they must,
with no choice,
I will see them suffer,
and laugh for eternity.



“Writing poetry makes me feel like I can see myself, like I can see my reflection, but not in a mirror, in the world. I write and I know I can be reflected.”
-Oscar S.

“Writing poetry makes me feel free.”
-Buenda D.

“Writing poetry is like your best friend.”
-Jessica M.