I dream of far places
Up in the sky, jet planes leave vapor trails. They look like white
zippers in blue cloth. I think, “Who is up there? Where are they going?
What will they see?” I whisper strange names of places Honolulu, Walla
Walla, Singapore, and Oslo. I read place names on a map. The words
change into a singing kind of poetry. I think, “Who lives there? What
are their houses like? What do they eat?”
Some of my toys were made in Japan.
The coffee we use grew in Brazil.
My brother’s sweater was made in Scotland.
We have a typewriter from Italy.
I watch news programs on television. I hear people in faraway places
speak Chinese, Spanish, or German. I see the shapes of mountains and
elephants. I see a clock in London called Big Ben.
I am not old enough to know much about the world but, oh! I am old
enough to be curious. Someday I will go north, south, east, and west. I
will explore new sights, sounds, smells, and tastes. But I will come
home again.
