Young Writers Project is an independent nonprofit that engages students to write, helps them improve and connects them with authentic audiences in newspapers, before live audiences and online. YWP also publishes an annual anthology and The Voice, a digital magazine featuring YWP’s best writing and images. More info: youngwritersproject.org or contact YWP at sreid@youngwritersproject.org or 802-324-9538.

This week, we present responses to the following prompts: Tomorrow. Begin a poem or story with the words, “Tomorrow, I hope…”

And the Community Journalism Project (CJP), a new initiative by Young Writers Project that offers writing and photo challenges, journalism skills-building, workshops and newspaper publication, established to share the voices of young Vermonters on issues shaping their lives and their futures.

Here’s to my town

By Marina Sprague

Age 17, Chelsea

To the town that raised me:

I may be leaving, but I’ll come back one day.

Here’s to the playground that sparked my imagination.

Here’s to the girl I befriended because we were both by the Legos.

Here’s to the three flights of stairs we had to climb in fifth grade.

Here’s to that first book that made me addicted to reading.

Here’s to the class clown who wanted to marry me in kindergarten.

Here’s to the teachers who believed in me, despite me not believing in myself.

Here’s to the boy who always knew when I needed a hug.

Here’s to the art room where the misfits fit in.

Here’s to my best friend, who’s on her own journey now.

Here’s to the boy I never stopped thinking about.

Here’s to my fellow theater geeks: “May the world be your stage.”

Here’s to the math teacher who let me read in class.

Here’s to the soccer team I actually liked.

Here’s to the kids who looked up to me because I was older.

Here’s to my class of outcasts and losers.

Here’s to the town library (or should I say, our afterschool hangout).

Here’s to all the fun the science nerds had in that snowy forest.

Here’s to the fieldtrips that made us happy, just for leaving school grounds.

Here’s to all the people I think about but never talked to.

Here’s to all the inside jokes I can no longer share.

Here’s to all the memories I’ve made with the unlikeliest of people.

Here’s to the town I hate so much I love.

Prompt: Tomorrow

Tomorrow, the day of impossibilities

By Kelly Daigle

Age 17, Bradford, Vt.

I.

Tomorrow, I hope the sky turns green.

I hope the sea turns violet,

the fish start flying,

and the birds start talking.

Tomorrow, I hope the trees erupt into symphony,

the clouds hanging above lower

to throw the world into a foggy dreamscape,

and the stars twinkle between my fingers.

Tomorrow, I hope for the impossible.

I hope for the impossible —

though not because I believe it will come true.

I hope solely for these impossibilities

because I know some possibilities won’t come true.

I know that tomorrow, not every table will be filled with food and drink.

I know that tomorrow, not every person will find a warm bed at night.

I know that tomorrow, not every mind will have all happy thoughts.

I know that tomorrow will, most likely, be exactly the same as today.

So yes, I hope the trees start singing tomorrow,

but only because I do not want to get my hopes up

that the people of this world will finally come together,

finally put aside their issues and help each other.

II.

There is always a second part —

an epilogue, a sequel, an afternote.

And yet, is this one worth it?

I shall write the second part tomorrow,

because tomorrow, I hope I won’t need to.