Scholastic 2014 Art and Writing Silver Key Award
Duke Young Writers' Camp 2013, Session 3 Final Celebration Piece
July 26th, 2013
We met amidst Warrior clans and recess crusades
when, if you held a seat upon a swing you were considered king.
Our times were spent augmenting our imaginations
as we raced around gravel tracks
our hands cracked with playground battle wounds.
We met in chalk-dust speckled rooms
where maps decorated the peeling walls
and the Princess Bride was gospel.
We popcorn read and
feigned
love for the hell-hole we lived in
all the while dreaming
of where we would go after this.
We met in frozen asphalt streets
the ground so cold it turned into a frigid heat.
Spilled milk stars dripped onto honeyed concrete
our cosmic-dust eyes
chastising the audacity of our town
to believe that we could never be worth anything.
We met one snow-drenched day
microscopic chips of permafrost skeletons
hitting the windows, transforming into a liquid crystal display.
They formed an icicle skin
as the wind howled through the whispering air vents.
We met on a crisp autumn day
leaves falling, awash in a crimson decay
Our feet crunched through the casualties of
winter's feral approach.
Our hands were wrapped in woolen mittens as we gazed, smitten
with the joy in only having another year in our
burnt-out town.
We met on a plaintiff gray day
the clouds hung so low I thought that I could reach up and
catch one because
maybe I could make you stay if you
had a piece of the sky that we had gazed
upon for so many ink-stained days.
We met one incandescent summer afternoon
at a long lost friend's party, balloons
tugging against their hugging strings.
I saw you out of the corner of my eye
my sight seeming to lie
for you had left this god-forsaken town
with nothing on your back except for the frowns
of the ghosts you had once loved.
We met on a dreary winter morning
our eyes adoring the frosted snow-man
who wore a fir colored Peter Pan
hat, his willow branch hands held by
pink covered mittens
We were smitten with the
dry ice exterior of our home.
We met one winter tide midnight
Your fingers where bone-dressed revenants
shaking in the light of our bedside lamp.
Your skin was damp and
freckled with playground scars dancing with
fading ebony stars.
The lustrous galaxies in your beryl eyes
dimmed and
you embraced Death when he placed his Jack Frost hands
on your branded shoulder.
We met in an ice-kissed cemetery
your once winter-blossomed cherry
cheeks were absent of being.
Your eyes were closed and
I watched them lower you into your final resting place below
the decomposed earth.
We met on a harvest evening
the leaves were so bright and alive they seemed to be breathing.
My henna eyes fluttered shut and
my breath seemed to cut
through the ripe autumn air.
The Milky Way swirled in your eyes
and we watched the moon pass by.
Your hand held mine
our fingers curling vines
intertwined
and I swore that I could fly.
We met amidst Warrior clans and recess crusades
when, if you held a seat upon a swing you were considered king.
Our times were spent augmenting our imaginations
as we raced around gravel tracks
our hands cracked with playground battle wounds.
We met in chalk-dust speckled rooms
where maps decorated the peeling walls
and the Princess Bride was gospel.
We popcorn read and
feigned
love for the hell-hole we lived in
all the while dreaming
of where we would go after this.
We met in frozen asphalt streets
the ground so cold it turned into a frigid heat.
Spilled milk stars dripped onto honeyed concrete
our cosmic-dust eyes
chastising the audacity of our town
to believe that we could never be worth anything.
We met one snow-drenched day
microscopic chips of permafrost skeletons
hitting the windows, transforming into a liquid crystal display.
They formed an icicle skin
as the wind howled through the whispering air vents.
We met on a crisp autumn day
leaves falling, awash in a crimson decay
Our feet crunched through the casualties of
winter's feral approach.
Our hands were wrapped in woolen mittens as we gazed, smitten
with the joy in only having another year in our
burnt-out town.
We met on a plaintiff gray day
the clouds hung so low I thought that I could reach up and
catch one because
maybe I could make you stay if you
had a piece of the sky that we had gazed
upon for so many ink-stained days.
We met one incandescent summer afternoon
at a long lost friend's party, balloons
tugging against their hugging strings.
I saw you out of the corner of my eye
my sight seeming to lie
for you had left this god-forsaken town
with nothing on your back except for the frowns
of the ghosts you had once loved.
We met on a dreary winter morning
our eyes adoring the frosted snow-man
who wore a fir colored Peter Pan
hat, his willow branch hands held by
pink covered mittens
We were smitten with the
dry ice exterior of our home.
We met one winter tide midnight
Your fingers where bone-dressed revenants
shaking in the light of our bedside lamp.
Your skin was damp and
freckled with playground scars dancing with
fading ebony stars.
The lustrous galaxies in your beryl eyes
dimmed and
you embraced Death when he placed his Jack Frost hands
on your branded shoulder.
We met in an ice-kissed cemetery
your once winter-blossomed cherry
cheeks were absent of being.
Your eyes were closed and
I watched them lower you into your final resting place below
the decomposed earth.
We met on a harvest evening
the leaves were so bright and alive they seemed to be breathing.
My henna eyes fluttered shut and
my breath seemed to cut
through the ripe autumn air.
The Milky Way swirled in your eyes
and we watched the moon pass by.
Your hand held mine
our fingers curling vines
intertwined
and I swore that I could fly.