Young Writers Society

They call her Cailleach:
Winter Bringer, Mountain Maker.
She swirls the sea in a bowl
to create winter, briny wind
assaulting the cliffs.
Her hands, thin and gnarled
from many blizzards, draw freezing runes
in the air. Braids hang gray
down the ridge of her spine.
Trenches cut deep into her cheeks--
If you search for beauty, you will find
only the starkness of wisdom,
buried in the snow, emerging from stone.

Awards Banquet

He sat at the table across the room
with all his friends that used to be my friends.
The tile between us echoes as high heels
Stomp up to the podium. My speech earns
a standing ovation and his earns a cringe.

We were equals, once, but banquet
always awards the winner.

Congratulations on completing NaPo! You did great!