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Activities for Kids

Say something ordinary. Repeat it until it no longer sounds ordinary.

Poetry | Poetry Tuesday, poetry
November 14, 2023
Sit between a panther
and a condor in the

Carry a cockroach
out of a toilet
like an old man
wearing thick glasses.
Stare at the body
until it sputters to life.
Do this every day.

Take off your shoes,
dance backward
out of a room, draw
hydras hatching from
toilets, toss an electric
carnation onto a duvet.
Repeat this forever,
slower each time.

Be a hand carving
bruises out from
Eat the wounded bits.
Regard their

Write a list of those
who love you most.

Who craft a nectar-
swooned world despite

the angular logic of
daily despair. Write
them each a letter
using squid ink on the
leaf of a ficus lyrata.

Fake laugh until you
real laugh. You may do
this alone.

While eating a
mandarin imagine
a man fallen asleep
waiting for his
husband. Imagine tiny
white flowers flying in
through a broken
Now draw what you

Walk to the middle
of a rickety bridge over
feral water.
Imagine an opal
where a single cactus
opens a yellow eye.
Let out a yolky
until you run
out of breath
or until you die.

Without moving
your body, travel
to space. Not the kind
with stars, but
between two pillars.

Wait for a flood. If you
survive, share your last
dried apricot with the
other survivors.

Build a suit of
memory. This can be
an enormous
forgiveness. Or water
with you in it. Put on
your new suit and
invite your friends to a
costume party at your

Look at yourself in the
Soft, soft as a room
full of kindergartners
saying: I missed you.
Access your whole self
without the spur of

Move abruptly to
another country
forever. Try not to
forget your language.

Do not separate
the leaves
from the root.

Stare into an empty
notebook until
stillness unbraids the
hour or until the room
is so dark you no
longer see the

Repeat a giddy syntax
to stun you aflame.
Once I
ate cilantro. It tasted
like nature. Once I ate
cilantro. It tasted like

Once I
ate cilantro. It tasted
like nature.

Once I
Once I
Compose a song about
how the moon feels
absorbing prayers. Call
it everything but
Play it near a pond
coated with pink

Walk into the frigid
sea. Do not retreat
when a family of seals
draws near.

Say something
ordinary. Repeat it
until it no longer
sounds ordinary.

Go to a party. When
someone asks you a
question, do a
tumbleweed dance.
This may include
absence, the
interminable hour, the
breakdown of systems
that facilitate haste,

Using a pen you find
on the ground, draw a
picture of yourself 40
years from now. Wait
40 years. Draw another
picture, this time
looking in a mirror.

Who could I have saved
but didn’t?
Pack a camera. Go
door to door and ask
your neighbors to say
the question aloud.
Take a photo of them
just after they finish.

Persuade time to untie
its dummy limbs and
leak out all its water.
Stand waist deep in
liquid trying not to
touch your face.

Handle a dead animal
tenderly with bare
hands. Do this until
you hear it whisper.

Every day write three
handwritten notes that
read, You are someone
important. Fold the
notes and leave them
in unremarkable
places across the city.

Meditate to the sound
of someone pushing
one rock slowly over a
field of rocks.

POSSIBLE over and
over in a lined
notebook until there is
no more space. Create
more space.