2nd Place

You’re leaving tomorrow  19 years with you right down the street
Tomorrow is far away
so we talk and laugh  like we always do
We try to make the most of the time we have
But today is just like the others
I leave your house late and come back early
Without even noticing  today became tomorrow
with no sleep to divide them
The sun shining bright
but a dark cloud is in our hearts
pouring rain
a sinking feeling inside us
Tomorrow is today
but it doesn’t feel real

The car parked in front of me looked like something out of a movie. An old, powder blue pick-up with three miniature American flags. I knew the person already but I hated myself for assuming so quickly. The car was a little rustic like the man in my head. I walked to see the back of the car and was disappointed that I was so right: Trump/Pence. The only thing that surprised me was that it was the library parking lot.

What is this doing here? I thought. I was cleaning out the kitchen before my mom arrived the next day when I found my mug in the cupboard on the highest shelf. I had to climb the counter to reach that shelf. I expected to find expired prescription pills and a bag of flax seeds that needed to be thrown out but not my mug. I was drinking coffee from that mug just a few days ago at 5am while writing a term paper.

Colter Poetry Prize Winner Sarah Williams

Introduction by Dr. Peter Kim, Barrett Committee:

"Sure there aren't any in the back?"

The man Mom asks is bald on his head and full of hair everywhere else. He does not look the type she would normally ask for assistance. But here, in Greenland Market, no one looks the type. He reaches for the garbanzo bean boxes and begins to unload them. His sweaty hands leave imprints on the can tops. Mom and I meet eyes; we both know the other is disgusted. Still we wait. Without looking up, he scratches his neck and speaks. "The truck comes in tomorrow."

Charlene couldn’t recall a specific day or time when she first recognized that she was never going to do anything memorable with her life. It was a realization that had crept up on her slowly over the years. Like the proverbial frog sitting in water that’s being slowly heated, she hadn’t noticed that the water was boiling until it was too late…until she was already cooked.

These are my hands.

They remind me of my youth. These protruding wrist bones remind me of the numerous front walkovers and back handsprings to which I’ve subjected my body. This ragged, faded scar on my wrist reminds me of summer camp, a time that was blissfully free from peer pressure, and divorcing parents. These callouses around my finger nails remain from a nervous habit that developed during the awkwardness of puberty. When I manicure my nails I remember the summer that I turned 13, and my mother first let me wear iridescent pink nail polish.

These are my hands.

I squeeze my husband’s hand,
wiping my eyes
and walking alongside
the smoldering wreckage.
We move as elusive as
whirling plumes of dust,
side-stepping the stone remains
of homes in the Port-au-Prince.
Avoiding the flames
that dance aloft the ashes
of tables, chairs, and
tinder sticks.
A plastic bag
skips down the road,
clinging onto a
shoe rising
walking away
from the rubble,
swaying like
a white flag
until it’s set loose,
floating into the
distant haze

The silhouette of trees swayed against the silver moon, the gentle breeze brushing down the hillside, along the cloudy river bed and through the pasture, blowing against the tall grass with crickets hopping—chirping—as Jim lounges on the porch—silent—bottle of moonshine in hand, painting the scene in his head before it’s all gone. The vast violet horizon sprawling across his hazel eyes.

When Cody returned home from the night-shift, his brother Hugh sat at the living-room table. Hugh’s hands shook violently underneath the cone of orange light spilling from the lamp, and between his thumb and index finger he cradled a wedding ring. He leaned his head forward, bathing the craggy contours of his face in auburn, and Cody could see his brown eyes. Cody sat at the other end of the table, and kicked off his boots.