I Know I Will Live (on to 18)

The kitchen will be used.
The pantry will be emptied
and then promptly refilled.
My pillow will be creased,
and my sheets will be wrinkled.

The sun will be seen
in the early morning when I wake.
The fallen tree will be heard,
and new children will play on it.
The old fort will stay broken,
I am no longer young to pretend.
I can no longer pretend to be young.

The deer will frolic in my yard,
but the Buck will not return.
Before, I needed Him, a Sign.
Now, I am the Buck.
I am my sign of change
and my creation of hope,
because in the long run

Sawyer Fell


18 years old

More by Sawyer Fell

  • Written Meals

    I do not know how to bake 
    something from scratch, 
    like my mother’s cookies. 
    With her instinctual precision 
    and her habitual familial ease. 
    I did not inherit this side of her.

  • On Being Vane

    Somewhere between a flower and a coffin
    lies the colorless sunrise outside your windows.
    I am devoted and still breathing like the Elin.
    You are innocent and still sleeping like the Pothos.

  • As She Pleases

    To be a woman
    is to be a banquet.
    Eclectic, savory, distinguished.
    A summer potluck of femininity;
    a Thanksgiving toast to masculinity;
    an Easter brunch with androgyny.