A child’s letter to Mr. Trump


Mr. Trump

My name is Prairie G—–.  I am 10 years old and in the 4th grade.

Presidents are fair, and try to make their best choices.  So if I was gonna be president, I would be prepared.

You might think that I am out of my mind.

I wish you good luck in the election.

If you win the election, I hope you will try to be nicer.  Because on TV you seem angry and rude.

Please take care of the people and be careful.

Thanks, Prairie


PS  Don’t bother to send back.  Unless you really need to.

She only appears tame


sitting quietly on the couch reading her Bible.


A jiggly foot betrays restlessness momentarily lying beneath her surface — the need to run, stretch, climb, sing and dance fingers across a violin.

That archy foot with delicately curved toes carries her swiftly across grass, dirt, forest floor, too fast and wild to be constrained by a shoe.

A night full and golden

My girl came home late,

long blonde hair snarled with sticks and leaves.

Brown smudges around her lips

clue to the hot chocolate she drank

in the cold dark,

waiting with her Daddy

for the travelers to Bethlehem,

so he could prophesy while she

pretended to be a log by their campfire.

No one saw her, and she was content

with invisibility.

Because she was with Him.

And that was enough.

I take the brush in hand,  fulfilling my role

and restore the tangled skeins.


Last week, I opened the doors wide, the outside air breathing fall into the house. That open door became a gathering place.

First, a dog came to the doorway and waited at the threshold, observing the movements of her humans.

Then, a girl sat in the doorway and read her history book to her dog.

Finally, a sister joined the girl and the dog.