Poetry
1st Place: Sarah Halle Sinks, “Patterns”
A line of light rested on my bureau drawers this morning
like a birthmark taking the shape of curtains that rippled
like water patterns.
The blanket at the end of my bed, thick like honey
in the back of my throat, a spoonful of velvet,
night after night it sits there forgotten.
The glow of the party soon forgotten,
words running off my tongue, looping back each morning.
The blanket at the end of my bed still made of velvet,
the shape of the curtains still rippled,
the back of my throat still full of honey,
lines of light crossing my bureau still forming patterns.
I became used to the patterns,
the only things I hadn’t forgotten
as I covered my apple slices with honey,
as I did every morning
The coffee in my cup rippled
as I twirled my spoon within its foamed milk, smooth as velvet
My words were soft like velvet,
Silk and smooth, my tone forming patterns
my own voice rippled,
conversations soon to be forgotten
by the swarm of the day as it dilutes the morning,
my lips are still sticky with honey.
Fingertips sticky with honey
as I curved them over the velvet
steering wheel like the cold air curved over the morning,
the sky like morning breath as I watched the clouds’ patterns
a kaleidoscope of puzzle pieces easily forgotten.
I switched through the radio stations, listening as they rippled,
my legs curled under my sweatshirt, which rippled
around my waist, hugging me like honey,
As it hugs apple slices and silver spoons. I’ve never forgotten
what sugar tastes like in the back of my throat, where a spoonful of velvet
still sits, while I walk through the patterns,
morning after morning.
The blanket at the end of my bed still soft as velvet
as the light from the drawers traces patterns
From the curtains, slowly letting in the morning.
2nd Place: Meher Chopra, “This is Just a Poem”
When I wake up today
I expect to wake up with gloom
But the slush outside wastes away
The flowers start to bloom
Neighbors wave to each other
Forgetting they used to fight on the yard
They instead offer a peace offer
Instead of fighting for their rights that were to be barred.
The air is clean
The forest is thriving
The water is spotless
The polar bears aren't dying
Things are now different
Things have now changed
Things are as clean as a mint
Things are now safe
My eyes open
I shake in fear
For this is just a poem
This isn't real
Hate surrounds me
Hate fills the air
Why can’t people see
It will only travel, like a belgian hare
Politicians argue
Peaceful protests become brutal
When will we be serene?
Maybe I’ll search it up on google
The most violent days of them all
Was January 6th
People came out all over DC and brawled
While the police, our protectors, cowered like baby chicks
“It's a revolution” They said
“It's our human right” They cried
What about our movements?
What about our rights?
This isn’t something different
This isn't out of the blue
Will things ever get better?
Or will it stay forever, like a tattoo
We have a new government now
With people worth respecting
They’re making change, working with furrowed brows
And it's quite affecting
But they can't do it alone
No matter how hard they work
We must come together as one
And shock those who oppose in the tailbone.
We, the people, must use our grief and agony
Caused by racism, homophobia, and misogyny
We, the people, must raise our voices
Cowering away is like drinking a glass of poison
Know that our past experiences will only make us stronger
We will come together as one, and come together louder
White supremacy will no longer bound us in its metal chains
Hand in hand, we will fight them all, not with violence, but with our brains
I hope that one day this poem will not just be a poem
I hope that one day this will all come true
I hope that we will come together the opposite of broken
I hope that we will break through
But until then all I can do is write
Occasionally even cry
For this is just a poem
And my dreams are all a lie
3rd Place: Rachael Bhuthartt-Kean, “Hands”
