Writing

This poem by IceGalaxy, age 17, of Virginia, responds to the challenge,

a fresh white blanket covers the hill.

i press my palms down into the layers.

flakes fall onto my face.

they melt fast but the feeling stays.

well 

it’s November already

how does the time pass so quickly?

just a month ago, i was in a toxic relationship

now i have the girl of my dreams

just a month ago, i was screaming and crying to the wind

hushed murmurs, a squeaking chair

low mmms and ahhhs and snaps

and a poet standing dead center to begin dissection —the act of pulling out an intestine to test the color for ink

I saw a photo

Of you when you still had hair

Brown, nothing

Special, that hair was.

I forgot what you looked like

With hair that didn’t come off when you traded it

For a hat.

Black threads interlaced. 

Buttery seams–

The feel of dreams.

Baggy enough,

enough to be fitted.

Sprawled on the marley floor,

Each pulse of my heart 

tugs a string of my soul,