2nd Place

“ I don’t …”

His voice trembled, fragile as glass on the verge of breaking.

He stood alone in a long white hallway that stretched impossibly far in both directions, so uniform and clean it seemed less like a place and like an idea. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic. The walls had no seams, no corners, no imperfections-only endless white. A white that seemed meant only for pencil marks- words not yet written. At the very end stood a single blue door. It was the only color in the world. He swallowed, his throat tight, tears slipping down his face.

The sun used to shine brighter then.

So you’re going to think this is absurd.

I ate a burger today.

Yes, I know—that isn’t very eventful at first glance. But I’m telling you, there was something about that burger that set everything else in motion. Or maybe it wasn’t the burger at all. Maybe it was the moment that came after or perhaps even before.

When Demeter welcomes Persephone home with open arms,
the sunrises will taste like blood
orange and strawberry lemonade.

When the grass squishes and sloshes with morning rain
and worms inch their way onto the sidewalk,
I will wiggle my bare toes in the mud.

When the warm weather wobbles
in like a newborn fawn,

I will plant tomatoes in the garden and scrub
the soil from my fingernails
in the kitchen sink.

First, you have to meet a guy. He’ll be tall and rugged and flighty, with tattoos and a southern drawl. He’ll remind you of a cowboy, and you’ll like that. You’ll spend your nights in his bed and your mornings sitting on his counter as he makes you coffee. He’ll tell you he wants to marry you and buy you a big house in the mountains. One day, You’ll find a letter taped to your front door.

“I can’t do this. I’m sorry,” scrawled in his messy print. Every trace of him will be gone. You’ll burn the letter and scream till your throat is raw.

Was walking barefoot to the corner store
Cherry popsicles melting
down our arms. Staining
our denim shorts and our mouths
Hot, sticky, and bright red.

Sharing a tube of cherry lip gloss and giggling
at the high school boys who honk at us from
their pickup trucks, hanging
out of the windows like dogs,
drooling and panting.
The burning
July sun. Long hair sticking
to our tanned skin.

Did you know that scars can still hurt long after the flesh and skin have been mended?
It has something to do with nerve endings getting trapped in the scar tissue.
This is to say, some wounds never fully heal.

The Greek word for wound is trauma.
I once read a book about the way trauma reshapes your brain.
This is to say, there are some things you can never get over.

✷✷✷

Run from America
Hide from the Shooters
Fight the Government
Losing count
Thinking of all the rounds
They fire
Into the classrooms
Kids not knowing
Their typical Monday will be filled with doom
So many lives lost by senseless shooters
I can name a few
Nikolas Cruz
Seung-Hui Cho
Adam Lanza
Schools telling you to
Run from Cruz
Hide from Cho
Fight Lanza
How?
When the sounds of bullets are flying
Hearts are racing
Schools used to be a safe haven

As the Waves roar
You can’t drown out my voice
Working your 9-5
But I’m what’s on your mind
Fall deeper
I’m singing your song
Greek mythology
Turned into real life
Sitting by the waters
Luring you in
Come closer
Pushed by love and sin
This will be an experience
The depths of my mental
Or the waves
Which one will drown you?
My shyness but my confidence
Will be sure to confuse you
So slip beneath the waves
Where you’ll be swept up
By my sweet curse

Black is my afro
Black is my grandma’s sweet tea
Black is my Nina
Black is the past
My ancestors were called Negros
Black is reminding whites that they cant say Nigga
In 2023
And them acting triggered
Black is pain
But black is beauty and gain
Breaking the chains
Black is my change
Black is my Usains
Speaking of running
They wonder why we run
When we are
Judged by 5-0 because our skin
Being treated differently because of our
Oppressors sins
Staring at the ocean