In a freezing Costco I look for
the warm orange
of some freshly harvested
pumpkin
or the deep smell of dried hay.
Out of the window I imagine
a tiny car and immeasurable
countryside,
but I just see boundless
streets and intrusive trucks.
Pale places
used to bored me
in my memories now
I’m intrigued by their joyful color.
Family
an expert puppet master that
used to suffocate me,
now I search for them
in my dreams.
Voices
were loud and oppressive
a barking noise
now I can hear them calling from afar
like Ulysses’s mermaids never-ending song
imploring to go home.
My stomach is full of stones,
there’s a weight in my lungs,
Not air,
but
nostalgia.
James Bowie High School
11