Poems for Analyzing Sound Devices (choose one)1. Underline all instances of alliteration you find in the poem. (Mark only those parts of

words that are alliterated.)2. Circle all instances of assonance you find in the poem. (Mark only those parts of

words that have assonance—i.e. the appropriate vowels).3. Put a box around all instances of repetition you find in the poem.

THE TOOTH FAIRY by Dorianne Laux

They brushed a quarter with glueand glitter, slipped in on barefeet, and without waking mepainted rows of delicate goldfootprints on my sheets with a loveso quiet, I still can’t hear it.

My mother must have beena beauty then, sittingat the kitchen table with him,a warm breeze lifting herembroidered curtains, waitingfor me to fall asleep.

It’s harder to believe the years that followed, the palmscurled into fists, a floorof broken dishes, her chainsmokingthrough long silences, himpunching holes in his walls.

I can still remember her printdresses, his checkered taxi, the dayI found her in the closet with a paring knife, the nighthe kicked my sister in the ribs.

He lives alone in Oregon now, dyingslowly of a rare bone disease.His face is stippled gray, his anklesclotted beneath wool socks.She’s a nurse on the graveyard shift.Comes home mornings and calls me.Drinks her dark beer and goes to bed.

And I still wonder how they did it, slippedthat quarter under my pillow, made thoseperfect footprints…

Whenever I visit her, I ask again.“I don’t know,” she says, rocking, closingher eyes. “We were as surprised as you.”

POWER by Corrine Hales

No one we knew had ever stopped a train.Hardly daring to breathe, I waitedBelly-down with my brotherIn a dry ditchWatching through the green thicknessOf grass and willows.Stuffed with crumpled newspapers,The shirt and pants looked real enoughStretched out across the rails. I felt my heartBeating against the cool groundAnd the terrible long screech of the train’sBraking began. We had done it.

Then it was in front of us—A hundred iron wheels tearing like timeInto red flannel and denim, shredding the childWe had made—until it finally stopped.

My brother jabbed at me,Pointed down the tracks. A manHad climbed out of the engine, was runningIn our direction, waving his arms,Screaming that he would kill us—Whoever we were.Then, very close to the spot Where we hid, he stomped and cursedAt the rags and papers scatteredOver the gravel from our joke.

I tried to remember which of usThat red shirt had belonged to,But morning seemed too long ago, and the manWas falling, sobbing, to his knees.I couldn’t stop watching.My brother lay next to me,His hands covering his ears,His face pressed tight to the ground.

--Corrine Hales