We are working in boxes stacked up on wire, pulling our eyes closer together.
I’m writing you to confess to my failures as I brew in the cracked tea pot on the window sill,
Teetering between the snow and a steamy room with two moon faces.
Let’s have a carpet rolled out between us, a buffer on life, glimpses of gypsies and mice with feet balled up and stuck.
Today wasn’t a strain on our skin, but instead a wander into bogs and still brooks and connections made on limp string, wrapped and wound so tight around our fingers that they’ve begun to blend in with the melting sky.
Clarissa Pollard is a high school student from western Massachusetts. Her poems were runners-up in the 2017 Michael Doherty Creative Writing Contest.