From over 50 submissions, the following five poems were selected as exceptional by our panel of judges.
by Angelica Zacarola
(she/her)
he looked at me
across the sticky
chain restaurant table
and told me:
you remind me of a sunflower.
my tipsy lips stumbled
into a grin
but I couldn’t understand
what about me is a sunflower?
not my figure
an entire field
of the bright botanics bunched together
wouldn’t match my measurements
and a delicate tulle bow
wrapped around hips like mine
is discouraged
feminine fabrics aren’t meant to
suffocate the skin.
not my hair
flowers likely fear becoming
as dark as the self-motivated strands
that sprout from my scalp
and when my tangled seeds fall to the ground
they will not revive and shoot to the sky
but cower in the corner
until the mighty Dirt Devil seals their fate.
maybe my eyes
I see my world through the same
some-cream-no-sugar
coffee colored lenses
but at the center of them are seeds of life
in me are deep seated questions and doubts.
I’m sure he could see them too.
perhaps he’s confused me for
someone born in August
who wears the loyal flower as a mascot
representing a confidence my humble Aster
could never achieve.
am I reading this wrong
and he actually meant to hurt my ego?
calling me something so
Disproportionate
and Gawky
In a field far away
from her brothers and sisters
creating yellow-bathed dirt
and pouting when the weather
doesn’t go with her plans.
maybe I am a sunflower.
but I pulled my hand
slowly out of his,
cutting the vine
that began to grow into my chest
and reassured myself:
my middle name is Rose.
isn’t that why he picked me?
by Susan Marie Powers
(she/her)
Water cascades down a high mountain.
Overwhelmed by spring’s sharp scent,
I watch gray clouds roll as a swallow takes wing.
In this barren place, there are no lotus blossoms.
No distractions, just reminders that stars
matter more than that for which I yearn.
Paired swallows throw wings wide — yearn
for warm Atlantic waters, reach the mountain,
fly for weeks as they whirl, guided by strings of stars.
They leave mud-daubed nests, follow the scent
of fish and sea, driven to find lush blossoms.
Swallows graze waters, plunge beaks, drink deeply on the wing.
I wend my way, wonder how to live, wing
it when I am lost, say I’ll manage, yearn
to be guided by instinct, to find a way to blossom:
There is no path. I alone must push the mountain.
Grass and feathers soften the nest, emit scent.
Here swallows find safety under distant stars.
I balance on one foot. I wish I could rise like the stars,
look across constellations and humble moons, wing
my way toward the sun where I catch the scent
of melting wax as my feathers shed and I plunge, yearn
for a solution to all Earth’s troubles, bigger than a mountain,
impossible to solve, take refuge in the heart of a blossom.
Flower, tell me your secret. All hope lost, and yet you blossom.
I hold the ball, move into single whip, above me stars
watch as the earth turns. I bow to the mountain.
Swallows fly south lifting wing after wing.
They fly to tropics buzzing, humid, a place to yearn
for all that’s lost, buried, nothing left but bitter scent.
I balance and breathe, play the pipa, gather my Chi, find the scent
of salt water — a storm is coming. Now is not the time to blossom.
Nor is it the time to bare one’s heart. It is foolish to yearn
for wisdom when death stalks us, dark clouds cover stars.
Sometimes movement is better than thought. The Cardinal’s wing
flickers. Next to his fire I am rooted motionless as a mountain.
I part the wild horse’s mane in the shade of a blue mountain,
say a prayer of gratitude that gives my heart wing:
the spice of lotus blossoms teaches my heart to yearn.
by Caitlin Breen
(she/her)
On the way to the demonstration a wasp flew through
the open window of my car, and I did not lose control, but rather
pulled into the driveway of a campsite on route 198,
leapt out of the car as if propelled by a spring and watched
from a distance as the little insect flew away. Of course, by then,
it looked harmless. Of course I could have crushed it
as easily as it could have stung me, more easily:
giant to its light-bloomed wings. The protest was sparse
and over in an hour, and the schools opened anyhow
with no changes to plan, and it was unfashionable
by then to appear afraid of a virus that had, at that point,
killed a hundred thousand. The story about the wasp
went over well with whoever I told it to— there is no other joy
like when fear gives way to laughter. My granddad found out
he was allergic to bees while he was driving, smashed his car
into a telephone pole and almost died. His neighbor saw the car,
pulled over to help, got him to the hospital in time. We all know
that death can lurk in something small, or in other words,
the issue here is not a lack of understanding.
by Gulshan Ara
(she/her)
She was standing near the barbed wire
Barricading the country of her dream
Staring blankly at the horizon, trying to see beyond her vision!
Can not cross the barrier physically
Yet, her eyes see far beyond the horizon
Watching sunset, sunrise, sunset and sunrise again
Being baked under the blazing sun of mid-summer day
Sticking out her fingers through the barbed wire
Trying to stop every passerby,
Asking, “have you seen my little girl”?
Her voice, once loud, now fading out, turning into whisper
Once strong grip on the barbed wire becoming weaker & weaker
Feet giving up, arched body stooping on the ground
She made a long journey from Haiti
Trying to escape terror, hunger
Clutching her two- year-old girl to her bosom
In search of some security, some food
Crossing the Caribbean Sea by a boat
Landed in Mexico
Made a long journey through Mexico, mostly on foot
Reached the barbed wire dividing America
Then it was time to wait and stare across the barbed ware
Suddenly, like a mirage, a small door opened
A border patrol guarding the door
Her face lit up
Like many, she ran for the door
Hoping to set foot at the land of her dream
She did enter America but only to be kicked out
Her little girl was snatched from her bosom
And she was kicked back to Mexico
Her daughter cried out “Mommy, Mommy”
Spread her little arms to clutch on to Mamma, without vain
Then she disappeared among an ocean of children
Her loud outcry resonated with those of many other children
Then faded away
Her mother and many other parents waited and waited
Clutching on to the barbed wire
Some succumbed to heat, hunger & starvation, some gave up
While life went on as usual in the world outside
United Nations General assembly kept on holding
Meetings after meetings
At the end of the day,
Going home to hot dinner & warm bed
Waiting to meet again the following day!
by Mick Theebs
(he/him)
Before I ever met you
you changed everything.
My heart cracked in half and
roots sprouted from it,
those unbreakable bonds
spiraling in a wild tangle
all around me.
Before you ever came,
you made me rearrange everything.
I pruned the deadwood
so those tiny little shoots of yours
could grow thick and sturdy enough
to stretch as far as you want.
Before I ever saw you,
you changed everything.
My chest, which I took for barren,
blossomed and bloomed
with a fragrant and technicolor hope
and the future became
this bright beautiful thing
whose petals folded
inward and outward
expanding in all directions-
stretching forward into the future and
continuing a chain stretching far into the past.
Before I ever loved you,
I loved you.
And I will always love you
so long as there is blood in my veins
and soil beneath my feet and
some day long into the future,
long after we have met,
when violets spring from the place
I lay my head to sleep,
I will still love you.
I can’t wait to tell you all about it.