Special Delivery @ Peterson 6th Grade

For this week at Peterson, students explored the significance of letter writing. We discussed the creative ways people in the past sent messages before technology: carrier pigeons, ships, notes in a bottle, and the pony express. It would have taken weeks, even months before a letter was delivered, which is the opposite of the instant texts, tweets, and emails we have today. Each letter is unique, with its own distinct personality, tone, and language. Letters allow us to put time and effort into sharing our most inner thoughts and emotions.

Together students read the poem, “In your next letter,” by Carrie Shipers. The speaker of the poem has just moved to a large city. She writes a letter to her mother, asking for special mementos from the small farm where she lived as a young girl. Students discussed Shipers’ use of concrete details; the incorporation of the five senses to describe the speaker’s childhood memories in the country. These vivid descriptions allowed students see the cast-iron cows drifting across the grass and taste the recipes for gravy, pie crust, and canned green beans. Students experienced the speaker’s feelings of isolation and homesickness; her need to reconnect with nature and her family. Inspired by Shipers’ strong imagery, students wrote letter poems addressed to the people, places, and objects in their lives. Enjoy this week’s published poems.


                                     Ms. Bell’s 6th Grade
                                                 Group 1


In your next letter, Grandma
Camila N.

Fluffy gray hair and soft skin,
hazel eyes and a tender smile.

When you sing your voice is
low pitched; very nice and gentle.

Your touch is as soft as a pillow.
When you hug me its like
hugging my old teddy bear.

When you bake you smell
safe, like home.

When I fall, you pick me back up.


In your next letter, Cheesecake
Michael S.

Tell me you’ll come straight into
my mouth. I long for your flavor.

Your creamy cheese that looks soft
and squishy with nice thin crust.

Nothing can beat the crust of baked,
pies, that crack and crunch.

The rich cheese melts in my mouth
and fills my stomach

with your wonderful swirl of flavors
that brighten the world.


In your next letter, Friend
Imad K.

Come help me! I’m not alone.
This monster won’t let me go home.
There’s just not one, there’s another.
I’m worried and so is my mother.

The creature lurks near.
I’m trembling with fear.
I burst out and run towards a tree.
It’s me, a monster, and another.
So, its three.

It’s a shadow that looks like a spider.
It pours itself into me as its build’s anger.
I have sights of it now, It’s paranormal.

The mind flayer is back at Star Court
Mall. Its deadlier, hungry and tall.
Elven its me! Will. Kill it with your
telekinesis. The Demogorgon makes
an appearance after two years.

But now you have no powers and it’s
after you.

The rest of us are useless.


                                        Ms. Bell’s 6th Grade
                                                   Group 2


In your next letter, Artemis
Nayeli A.

I can see you in my mind.
Your white and blonde fur
covers you like a blanket.
Your little paws tucked
underneath as you sleep.

I can hear your purring as you lay
beside me. You meow when my
door opens and closes and when
the light flickers on and off.

As you curl up in my arms, your fur
is soft and fluffy like a cloud. Your
snake like tail whacks me in the face
once or twice.

Though you don’t like baths,
you smell like soap. I think
it’s funny to imagine you
bathing with a frown on
your face.

Please remember me in your dreams.


In your next letter, Zo Zo
Soufiane D.

Your board game rules say never to play
by yourself in your house; a safe haven.

Your black mask streaked with blood
is not in my imagination, it’s in my home.

When I am by myself, you haunt me.
I was confused, I wanted to play Ouija.

Strange happening are normal now,
but I keep seeing that mask.

The long beak and the blackened eyes.
Dr. Parnassus is real. Its true! What
have I done to anger you?

I don’t want to die, even though I would
meet my uncle, I still have family here
and now.

I have a long life to live. The claws grow
ever near. Sometimes my heart beats so loud,
I nick- named it the “Tell-Tell Heart.”

Alas, When I’m by myself you haunt me.
I’m threatened by you.

Please spare me, I’m still young. I am a child
I want to have fun. Please get out of my room.


In your next letter, Grandpa
Ivan L.

We all miss you.
I hope you miss us too.
Grandma has remolded
the brick house you had
lived in.

I remember your chair with
the brown blanket draped
across the back. Also, the
camo overalls you always

I remember the way your
voice was always soothing
when saying, “I love you.”

Grandpa have a good
afterlife with the rest of
our ancestors.


                                            Ms. Bell’s 6th Grade
                                                        Group 3


In your next letter, Mother
Bianka G.

Your short black hair
and dark chocolate eyes
full of hope and love.
Your smile is as bright
as the sun.

You have a contagious
laugh, a honey warm voice
that tells me everything
is ok.

You are so supposed to
teach me, yet you do so
much more.

Mom, you saved me so many
times. You protected me
as a child. You were always
there for me.

Now, it’s my time to be there
for you.


In your next letter, Patient
Ashleen T.

Walking in the children’s hospital,
you can hear parents crying, afraid
to let their kids go before surgery,
The sirens of an ambulance taking
over the hospital .

The aroma of medicine fills the air,
as newborn babies make happy

But your time has come. The taste
of bitter medicine fills your mouth.
Wooden popsicle sticks take away
the taste.

The feeling of the gown overtakes
your body. Soft socks make your
feet sweat.

You’ll be fine, they’re here to help.


In your next letter, Grandpa
Ellis K.

Please send memories. I doubt you
remember me, nor do I remember
you. I wish I could have known your
face, your mind.

Your bench still stands, so does
your tree. Both have survived, at
least when I was last there in ’17.
I’ve seen many pictures, but no

I can touch photos, but alas if
only one could enter the past.
I ponder what you would say
now. What advice would you
give in each situation?

Grandma still makes Hungarian
cake. I’ve tried the orange peel
with chocolate. But still, send
memories, so I can know who
you are.



“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.