Reflections of the Delta

An old Cadillac floats past the snow-white fields,
Its old dents have traveled here before,
Soft blue-sky surrounds the car, enveloping the ground,
The cotton ball clouds follow the ageing white car,
As we pass the ripe fields, I feel a sense of peace,
I belong here, among the sprawling magnolias and cypresses.

I pass by worn brick houses that sag into the earth,
Aged tin roofs rust to match the dark soil,
Only dilapidated store fronts remain,
A transient monument to ancient greatness.

In Cleveland there are too many yard crosses to count,
This oasis draws people who continue tradition,
They greet strangers as if they had known each other forever.
Here, people preserve the old ways through dress, décor and kindness.
As I walk through downtown, I wish I could stay forever,
But life snatches me away from this strange paradise.

Again, an old Cadillac floats across the cracked road,
The whirling clouds retreat behind me as white gold is harvested,
Rolled into bails by men with no opportunity,
Given shoddy homes and failing schools with a false promise future.
As the long car sails through the never-ending white ocean,
I think about the people who will never live this land.
Trapped in a world of concrete, tweets and posts,
Ivory towers that touch the gray New England sky,
While they denounce these proud people of being deluded and irrational,
Believing their few genuine experiences give them that power.
A sad notion as I look out the window to the passing pecan trees,
Waving a sort of goodbye to as the fading Cadillac hums by.

As the cracked farm road becomes more than a two-lane highway,
And this whimsical dreamland evaporates before my eyes.

Eugene Tibbs won first place in the Gaithersburg Book Festival Youth Poetry Contest. He writes:  I am a high school junior at Landon School in Bethesda, MD. I casually write poetry when traveling with family. My poetry is concentrated on themes of family and Southern identity from living in Memphis, TN for two years during the pandemic. My experiences with Southern music, food, and culture manifest in my work as well as my deep knowledge of both classical and Southern literature. When writing, I focus on bringing the issues of crippling poverty and economic decay within the deep South to those who are removed from the South. By doing this I believe I am making a difference in the minds of those with power in the Capital area.

Image byWilly Bearden, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

The Exodus of Icarus

Standing in the candlelight
Watching the flames flicker up, and down,
Watching your eyes turn golden and fill with determination.
You say you’ll carry me, Father,
Then pull me close for the final time
In this ugly and bloody and wretched place
And we’ll take a chance and make a gamble with our lives —
You know I trust you with my life.

I’m not quite sure what to think
About these miraculous golden wings,
Each holding a thousand delicate and perfect feathers,
But I’ll follow you.
I’m holding still
As you place the wings on my back;
They feel quite heavy, quite dangerous, quite exciting —
Adrenaline appears for our escape.

Falling, falling, and then
We’re no longer falling and
The air rests beneath our beautiful wings;
They carry us through the sky —
Flying, gliding, and this
Euphoria that dances in my heart because
Suddenly, for the first time in my entire life
I’m really, truly free.

I want to explore the world —
I want to go faster, to go higher,
To go further to all the corners of this Earth.
I’m rising through the sky.
You know what happens next:
Helios and his heat tear me apart and
Then I’m falling, falling, falling, with nothing
To slow my descent.

I’m so sorry, Father,
That I got carried away by the wild wind,
And now I’m drifting, lost beneath these waves —
Just don’t think it’s your fault.
You gave me everything
A boy like me could ever dream of:
Even the impossible, even my own freedom,
Even for a little bit of time.

Remember
Do you remember how
wonderful it feels
to break something?
The strain,
The rush,
The pain,
And then it snaps and with it
a little bit of me
breaks and falls away.

Do you remember how
satisfying it is
to hit something?
With all
My strength,
My rage,
And then my knuckles
throb in a beautiful way,
and it feels almost okay.

Do you remember how
exhilarating it is
to scream your lungs out?
Howling
At the
Blue sky,
And then I feel this
divine release of everything
that I shouldn’t say.

Lucy Collins is a student from Maryland, who has always had a passion for writing growing up. She recently won third place in the Gaithersburg Book Festival’s high school poetry competition and was a published poet in her high school’s literary magazine. Lucy’s dream is to have an impact on others through her writing. When she isn’t studying or writing, she loves relaxing with friends and listening to music.

Image: Icarus by Rogério Timóteo, CC BY 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Memories

I’ll never forget the kitchen with the drooling wafts of bashful morning sun dribbling through the yawning window.
I’ll never forget the kitchen with the tumbles of Shanghai breath painting the air awash in a dreamy technicolor perfume.
I’ll never forget the kitchen with the motley medley of crayon masterpieces, clumsy origami, and pottery mutants made with the silly giggles of childhood glee.
I’ll never forget the kitchen with the wire cage perched unassumingly in the corner, housing an unpretentious, little yellow resident.
I’ll never forget the little old lady who completed the scene, alighted on the windowsill, demonstrating to my older sister how to hang clothes onto the clothesline.
I’ll never forget her willowy fingers, carved with blueprints of age and time, as she gently guided my sister’s chubby hand over the colorful clips.
I’ll never forget her smile, a sweet, tilted curve budding on her face, with traces and dances of amusement wisping around her eyes.
I’ll never forget the candied bird song flitting around the kitchen, crystallizing the moment into pellucid forever.
I’ll never forget, as I watch Grandma slip into the painted sky, her soul fluttering among the cascades and rivulets and wings of moonlight and clouds and stars.

Jasmin Wu is currently attending Walter Johnson High School as a sophomore. She was one of the 12 finalists of the Gaithersburg Book Festival.

Image: Wok to Walk International, S.L., CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons