The Young Writers Project is a creative, online community of young writers and visual artists that started in Burlington in 2006. VTDigger publishes the writing and art of young Vermonters who post their work on the site each week. youngwritersproject.orgIt is a free, interactive website for young people aged 13-19. To learn more, please go to: youngwritersproject.org or contact Executive Director Susan Reid at [email protected]; (802) 324-9538.

There can be much to learn from a casual sit on a park bench: it is a place to observe, to reflect, to philosophize. Sometimes we learn from our environment (the people passing by, the environment itself), and sometimes we create a renewed sense of meaning within ourselves by simply stopping for a moment and sitting in the chair. This week’s featured poet, Jack Savas of South Burlington, lies outdoors on a bench, watching the world pass by and the world watching him.

Perspective

Jack Savas, 19, South Burlington

The sleek, gray metal of the bench makes my legs tingle.

There is always —

Even as my father and I watched the sun set into the night.

I wonder if the cold brings the same solace to him as it does to me.

Pink and orange spread like pearls across the blank canvas of the sky.

Did he see the beauty of the clouds the same way I did?

I doubt it.

My dog ​​is standing next to me; its thick, golden fur forms a barrier between it and the cold frame.

I wonder if he can feel the cold metal beneath him.

I doubt it.

A breeze is blowing,

It made the hairs on my arms stand up like a soldier standing at attention.

I should have brought a sweatshirt.

A runner passes by,

his face was as red as the stop sign he had just passed.

I’m sure he likes the breeze.

A grassy hill stretches before me.

It seems like it’s begging me to roll down the hill.

I can.

From afar I see an old couple walking on the road.

I wonder if they feel the same urge to roll down the hill.

I doubt it.

I like this bench.

The houses around me offer a sense of security.

My father always wanted it to be just nature.

I love the constant buzz of insects around me.

The rhythm is quite fascinating,

but they don’t know this.

Do the houses around me open their windows?

Invite this melodious hum into their homes?

Probably.

Three letters were spray painted on my bottom:

“MKZ.”

I’ve had theories in the past.

Maybe it’s a secret message?

Or maybe a riddle.

I’ll never really know.

In its place,

I am preparing a fairy tale for everyone who accompanies me.

I tell some it’s a secret;

To some I say this is a message.

I leave most of it to imagination.

A car passes by

one person inside.

One person in the car

nothing else.

As the car passed me, he saw me:

a man

Alone on a bench

nothing else.