Maddie had an assignment yesterday where she had to write a poem about a new place she visited and how she felt. We worked on it last night, and she said I could share with you this first draft about visiting India for the first time when she was eight. She told me to emphasize that it was a first draft…so here you go-
Spice and Curry
Sounds. Strange voices. Sounds. Different languages.
Fresh air rushes to me. It carries with it a strong scent of spice and curry.
A long hallway greets my parents and I.
I cling to my leather bound passport, hoping it will be faithful to me.
The airplane ride was treacherous.
My eyes seem to drag to the dirt collected floor.
My hair tickles my face.
The scent of spice and curry overwhelms me.
As we walk, there is a woman figure.
Tall. Beautiful. A goddess statue. Altar to the side.
I can almost taste the spice and curry in my mouth.
The heaviness of the air hits
The heat of the air scorches.
I try to shed my sweatshirt unsuccessfully,
because of the rush.
My pink hat tops my 8 year old head.
Curry and spice flood my senses.
The shocked stares of hundreds
make me sweat more.
This is my final destination.
My second home.