Read Online Tap Dancing on the Roof by Linda Sue Park - Free Book Online Page A

syllables.

Overnight
    Flying saucer poised for liftoff where the bird bath used to be.
On the driveway, three hippos—a mother and two babies.
    Snow waves its magic wand: Yesterday, mailbox. Today, hunchback gnome.

Vanishing Act
    Last week I built a snow family. Today, a stubborn sun shines.
My snow people look tired, then sad.... I hate seeing them this way.
    If that sun shines again tomorrow, I'll find three carrots on the ground.

From The Window
    Sparrows at the feeder each day, dull in brown and black and gray
but fun to watch as they scold and eat. One morning, a triple treat—
a primary-colored display: cardinal, goldfinch, blue jay!

Crocuses
    They pierce the thin skin of snow
with narrow swords of green
to clear the way for colors—
purple, yellow, lavender,
    petals huddled close, guarding
the treasure: a lode of gold dust.

Important Announcement
    Daffodils blare out the news.
Birds chatter, squirrels jabber,
all ecstatic—
Spring is here!

Except for the apple tree,
who wakes late, stretches, shakes herself,
makes one last drift of pale-pink snow.

FROG
    How proud you are of your strong legs!
Bend and straighten, kick and swim;
soon you will use them to climb
from cool water to sun-warm rock.
    But do you wonder where it's gone—
the tail that once served you so well?

Summer Storm
    Lightning jerks the sky awake to take her photograph,
flash!

Which draws grumbling complaints or even crashing tantrums from thunder—
    He hates having his picture taken, so he always gets there late.

Ocean Emotion
    The red flag waves its stern warning:
DANGER—NO SWIMMING TODAY.
The ocean churns, foams, roars, dashes,
hurls huge breakers at the sand!
    The next day it's all tired out
and takes a long nap in the sun.

Souvenirs
    In the shop there are baskets of sand dollars, white and round and smooth.
On the beach I search hard but find only shards, never a whole one.
    Are all the perfect sand dollars locked away somewhere—in sand banks?

Tide Line
    While I sleep, Moon hauls the heavy waves to just the right spot.
    On my morning walk, I see how she's redecorated the beach:
The sand freshly scalloped. New fringes of kelp. Shells rearranged.

Tennis
    When the professionals play,
it's like watching a metronome:
Racquet to racquet and back again,
the ball keeps a perfect, steady beat.
    When I'm on the court with my friends,
we improvise: jazz, hip-hop.

Defender
    Everyone wants to get the ball,
run with it, and score a goal.
But when we win one-nothing,
that "nothing" means everything,
    It's tough, playing for nothing.
Defense: Intense immense suspense.

Botany Lesson
    Mom pampers her houseplants, talks to them,
tells them to stand up tall.
But sometimes they give up, lie down, go brown.
They should learn from the weeds—
pushing through the pavement cracks,
smart, tough. Keeping at it, staying green.

Laundry
    I love sitting among the heaps of warm, soft, clean-smelling clothes.
My mom folds. I try to match socks, imagining them in Heaven:
    Cries of surprise, then celebration! Joyful reunions!

Shower
    Hurry, wash fast, sister's used up most of the hot water again.
Soap, scrub, rinse. Rub and wrap. Hair shining, skin glowing, smelling fine:
From a tiled cocoon, a butterfly with terrycloth wings.

Bedtime Snacks
    Good: Cookies and one glass of milk
for two dunkers—me and my dad.
    Better: Popcorn, a video,
and sleeping bags stuffed with friends.
    Best: Blanket pulled up over my head—
book, flashlight, and chocolate bar.

Brushing
    Whenever I forget, my dad makes me get out of my warm bed.
The bathroom light is too bright. I squint, squeeze out too much toothpaste.
I wish I could skip it, just once.... Eshkoozh me, I can't shpeak jush now.

Day's End
    All around, the volume turns down low.
The dark grows gently to fill
each room with peace, and me with sleep.
My mind slips out to play...
    ...in a world without walls.
Kaleidoscope ... Calliope ... Collage!

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Author's note
    While many poets and readers expect "syllabic"