Unca Steve

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Unca Steve gave me dollies
last night.
With pretty hair and
little shoes.
He came through
my window.

Tap tap tap
He came in with a tap
on my window,
and I saw him and
smiled.
Silly Unca Steve.

I got out of bed and
opened the window.
"Hello Kristi,"
said Unca Steve.
And he put a finger
on his lips.

"Shh," he said.
Crazy Unca Steve, is
what my mom called him.
And then he gave me
my dollies,

And told me not to tell,
not to say a word.
That he'd be back tomorrow
with more toys.

He left, and I slept
hugging my dollies,
and when I woke,
I didn't say a word
to Grammie, who was
watching me.

That night I waited,
and waited, and then
Tap tap tap,
he came in with a tap
and I saw him and smiled.
Silly, crazy Unca Steve.

I opened the window,
and Unca Steve came in,
and was cold.
"Goodbye Kristi,"
said Unca Steve, and he
took my present out of his pocket.

"Shh," he said, finger on lips.
And I was still,
and quiet.
I grasped my dollies tight.
And he pointed my black present at me,
and then there was a bang.

And I lost me, lost my eyes.
It was black, and I was gone.
And I said, to crazy Unca Steve,
"Goodbye."

I wrote this poem two years ago. We were supposed to remember a news story, then write a 'Witness' poem about it. I adopted the persona of a little girl, whose Uncle came to her house in the middle of the night and shot her while she was at her grandmother's house. **EDIT** Put this at the end so I wouldn't give away the suspense.
Last edited by skl02134 on Sun Feb 21, 2010 12:03 am, edited 2 times in total.
The key to every locked heart is commonly found hiding within little insecurities.




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Gender Female
Points 12492
Reviews 80
Well, your little explanation blurb at the beginning kind of gave it away, but the suspense was still strong. "Hope you like it!" is awkward when the poem is about a little girl getting shot... I'm still vouching for the quality of the deliverance, though. From the way you played with the spelling ("Unca Steve") to show how young the girl was, to her innocence and the dollies, came across as very well done.

Interesting, sneaky, excellent. The only iota of confusion lay with

Grammie, who was watching me


Wasn't the grandmother curious as to where the dollies came from?

See you around. I'm also giving it a "like–it".

–antimelrose
Sabbatical isn't the right word, but it almost is.
loves like a hurricane/i am a tree/bending the weight of his wind and mercy/dcb
grace finds beauty in everything... makes beauty out of ugly things/U2




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I think either you should end it at "and he pointed my black present at me" or write a better ending. Am I right in thinking that the current ending sounds kind of like you got to the climax of the story and didn't know how to finish it? I know that finishing things up nicely is really hard.

That's really only the problem I found, so good work! I think it's a great poem overall, especially that you used your voice to write it. I hope you keep developing your voice. If you have any questions, PM me.

-Clara.
"You know what to beautify is, I suppose?"

"Yes," said Alice doubtfully: "it means--to--make--anything--prettier."

"Well, then," the Gryphon went on, "if you don't know what to uglify is, you are a simpleton."



shady and rina are systematically watering down the grammar of yws
— Atticus