MY BEST FRIEND IS GONE AND ALL I WANT TO DO IS CHEW THE FURNITURE by Carrie Karnes-Fannin
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I don't know how well I did with the story arc aspect. But even so, I had fun with this little piece, which is a love letter to newer parents everywhere. What do you think? Drop a note and let me know in the comments if you relate to this one. Thanks for reading! Baby's First Valentine by Carrie Karnes-Fannin  Description: Toddler in yellow dress is being chased by toddler in dinosaur onesie, against a pink background. Heart confetti floats down all around them. (Illus. composed by me with Canva.) You
might not believe this right now... You might not feel it, with my small, sticky hand flung across your face, with just one hour left to sleep. You might be pressed to imagine this as you discover the two bites I took from the very last piece of double-chocolate pie. You might not see it, while you scrub those knee-high crayon marks from the bathroom wall. You might not believe this right now, but... ...I love you.
A quick note about my entry: this story idea was inspired by a quote I came across recently: “Then may I tell you that the very next words I read were these – ‘Chloe liked Olivia…’ Do not start. Do not blush. Let us admit in the privacy of our own society that these things sometimes happen. Sometimes women do like women.” - Virginia Woolf, A ROOM OF ONE'S OWN) The Trouble with Chloe and Olivia by Carrie Karnes-Fannin Word Count: 195 Age Group: YA My secondhand sneakers are scuffed. A splotch over the left toe resembles that old mystery director, Alfred Hitchcock. Or maybe my grandfather. Grandpa loves Hitchcock movies. While I’d never tell him this, I think it’s because he looks like Hitchcock. I’ve had time to study the Grandpa/Hitchcock stain since I’ve spent all morning avoiding this school...avoiding these new kids. Only that isn’t right. They aren’t new—I am. Two sparkly white tennis shoes and a pair of cowboy boots are ahead of me in line. I notice mud clinging to worn boot heels. Then they’re both turning...turning...turning toward me. “Hey, what’s your name?” It’s Tennis Shoes. Unicorn socks show above her double-knotted shoelaces. Her voice is low and musical. A leading lady’s voice. I try to look up...to reply, “Chloe.” My fingers twitch, longing for my camera. Why was everything easier behind a lens? My red canvas-covered right foot covers Hitchcock as my stomach flips. The smell of burnt fries and spoiled milk wafting through the cafeteria isn’t helping. Even Alfred Hitchcock couldn’t solve the mystery of making friends here. “Come on, Olivia,” Cowboy Boots says. “She’s weird.” They go away.
About this poem: I grew up in southern USA, where twilight is sometimes called "dark thirty." It's a magical time of day, with the sun glowing below the horizon, bats squeaking overhead, and fireflies dancing all around. When I saw this photo, I immediately thought of dark thirty and all the magic that exists for a kid during the twilight of their childhood. I hope it comes through at least a little bit in this piece. Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think in the comments.
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