Young Writers Society

Year two. I only got through 16 days last year(Rhia's Rhymes), so I've left plenty of room for improvement.

And now, we wait.

1/30
The pavement beneath me is still damp from
when the storm broke, but the sun dried every other surface around me.
Long after it retired, I rose
to find my reclining figure silhoutted, shadowy wet,
and surrounded by the unfurled
white flags of dogwood petals,
but I have no truce to make with the world

until, in quiet surprise, I find
a sparrow nested on the ledge of my porch; He fled
the storm and fell asleep so near to me

with the wonder of his soft breaths ruffling up so clearly,
and life moving rustling just beneath my surface and
before my eyes, then
flying right to my front door, I promise
to never go searching for love again

2/30
It's Easier if you Close your Eyes

I have paced from door to door of this house so many times
that you would think I wouldn't get so lost at night but
it is hard when the house is already split into two and
somehow I missed the memo so
I stand shunned, wandering in no-man's land

no matter how many times I dined on left-overs
straight out of the styrofoam box and
still cold from the fridge while
seated on the kitchen floor with no lights on,
this neglect is never something I will grow used to

I think, perhaps
it's all this hair that I have too much of
it covers me, they can't see
they think that I am a stranger

with scissors, leaning into my reflection,
I still can't quite bring myself to come back into their sights;
my father once told me he didn't want it cut because
he liked the way it looked, just before telling me
it'll be easier for you to
find your way in this world
if I always keep your eyes covered

3/30

last night i had this dream of these rooms all filled
with nothing but beds upon beds
and some strange instrumental music playing in my head that
made me want to sleep in every one

i think it says a lot about me,
how all i want to do lately is sleep--that,
and drink coffee, which shouldn't go hand in hand;
--so i drink coffee in my sleep and
and sleep while i drink coffee

eventually, i ran out of beds and then
the room filled with all these strangers rushing to get some sleep
the silence of their empty breaths drowned out
the music and i woke,
poured myself a coffee,
dreamed right into the cup

Rhia <3 Your imagery is spectacular. Day One has a quiet feel about it—quiet but oh-so-strong, and is wonderfully fluid! Day Two jabs me a little, but I like how you've woven the story so well into all the homey imagery; and Day Three is by far my favourite!

poured myself a coffee,
dreamed right into the cup

I'm gonna remember this one. XD

Keep going! x

Softball Game
hollowed beneath the bus stop, a lone
woman with an old face stares off
to a sign with a backwards
ampersand|dnasrepma
and[dna]
purses red lips at three

innings of stolen bases
and [dna] the tinny
noise of batting battering her

5/30
All my Eggs in one Basket

the only indicators of spring in this house are
the small porcelin bunnies that have
popped up, the porcelin birds nestling

their fragile bodies, all eggshell,
pastel pink of sunrise, late morning blues, lavendar
of early evening

but this house is no
happy cozy nest egg,
even still

6/30
Morpogeny
The first time you came to my house, the whole
side yard was a mess of clay, grass torn away, trench scars
and roots, corpse-like arms of the two torn down trees, and a small army
of bull dozers.

now, the sod has caught root and is full
and a bit too green and you are supposed to be here soon
but was I there for you? No,

I catch a small chill even though it is too hot
with no breeze and i touch my hands to my arms, softer
than you would.

7/30

we were at my neighborhood park, walking first by
the baseball field which is littered with Yu-Gi-Oh cards and
Michelob Light cans;
we snicker and marvel at
what a party that must've been
as we kick the cards up into a flutter

and then we got to my tree. the oak
that has the branches meant for sitting and talking, the leaves
thick enough to shield us from the world and still filter
golden dancers down upon us and the lake

the lake-which five Canadian Geese all
crowd down into all at once in a cacophony of feathers.
you tell me that geese are your favorite because
once they attacked your uncle,
bit him

and then you're quiet again

and I try my best to focus my attention
on softly crushing all the mosquitoes who dare to land
on the soft and pale skin at the inside of your arms.
Tomorrow, they'll welt up anyways but
it's the thought of trying.

8/30
Pop and Lock (your heart)

ballet dancers have...movement,....and feet so much softer
and more cautious and measured....than hip-hop dancers

so you two were..an interesting pair. Her skin
fair..and yours.....dark. You always stomping....heels..roughly and rhythmically
onto the world (your stage)......but she...(the one...in dainty slippers) was the one
to stomp all over...your heart, wasn't she?

.......you didn't expect it, but...you promised not..to be hardened
..as you danced the hurt into the ground,
.......ground your heels until you caught..traction again.

your chest popped,...feet slid,
..muscles jerked along to the beat of
....I just don't love you any more,
you know?....no, you didn't know ...and
all i know is that i have never felt so much of someone else's

tiredness...soreness...as when you danced on the stage
before me

.....but off stage, i made you promise
that your next dance would be to the tune of I am
moving...on

9/30
Humming

she tried to tell him how
her heart looked just like a hummingbird when he touched her
and he tried to smile but was a bit
hesitant at the corners of his lips

and so she tried
to fix this.......well,
not that much like a hummingbird

but it was a bit too late;
he rubbed a bit of her glitzy rose eyeshadow
from the corner of her eye,
blinked slowly as he stared at it,
brushed it off onto his jeans. When he took a step back,
she wanted to tell him how
her heart was really nothing more but
crushed velvet in powdery jewel-
tones. It's just that her lips
couldn't quite take shape.

10/30
Gratitude

my mother told me, with an honest but
quiet sort of appreciation,
I suppose I'm sort of glad
that your biggest act of teenage rebellion was
picking a pink prom dress.

I swirled slowly, tweaked
a bit of skirt against her.

It's more
orchid than anything, mother. Anyways.
I've still got time.

11/30
Of Food, Cooking, Growing

Chili oil hits the pan and rises; an
unexpected assault, the first step towards chemical warfare,
it settles inside nostrils to burns, waits
heavily on the backs of tongues. Garlic, minced
and cooked in butter, is different. Heavier,
but warmer and softer.

I watched anemic almost-strawberries slowly blush, liven
on the vine. Another day or two and they will rot to leave me
only with the leaves. I would probably like to take them
and lavendar to brew into some pale and melancholy
tea to ward off almost-summer loneliness. My mother says
first I must hang them in somewhere cold, and
dry: your heart should do nicely, smickers,
but no matter how hollow I may be, I am
stilltoonarrow to fit anything more.

12/30
4 Steps to Becoming Family

i. learn to find solace in the raucous
crunching of romaine's heart, crumbling exteriors
of bread (crusts not harder than my own)

ii. watch the gazes always and know
how to tell the moment before they fall
on you so you may close up

iii. they tell you so many times
that all this noise is how the show they care,
affection carried over grating sound waves and
shaking walls. From this, you can be sure
that this silence is just as cold as you thought.

iv. soon, you will discover
the many ways in which you can hide even behind open doors

13/30
Word Games

We were little girls at recess in the green
weaving flowers into crowns and writing out lists 
of all the obscene names we knew
onto small white boards,
pink paisley journal pages

Bitch, whore thrown down into the mix
and ones eyebrows furrow, head lilts
Slightly sideways. I thought those
were just other words
for 'mother'