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Munachimso Agwa

Grade: 11

Hathaway Brown School

Instructor: Scott Parsons

Sleepover on the Sidewalk

Poetry

Sleepover on the Sidewalk

and so we drank apple juice from wine glasses that night,
clothed in satin nightgowns and anarchy,
singing the same 2 songs over and over again until dawn.
close your eyes and tell me what you see;
honeyed moonlight against olive oil skin, eyes of marble,
lips of glass, fingers of gold, a head with no body, a nobody.
ripped chiffon hanging from cracked lips,
and a dying neon sign that read welcome to wonderland.
we're lost in the landscape, grasping at cigarette-scented shadows,
praying that dawn would and wouldn't arrive all at once.
feed me to the hydrangeas if i don't see the morning:
a forbidden wish that remains unfulfilled. this is rebellion,
we thought. trapped in the static of a polaroid's graying ink.
we are rebellion, we thought.


Endless Summer

Poetry

Endless Summer

I am wholly enamored with the shimmering broken things in this world.
You are one of them.
A quiet devotion settles between us every time-
a potent energy like dark matter.
You: pressed up against me like the swirling night sky
hole-punched by stars. An exothermic anomaly.
We're here.
Rescued from familiarity.
Swaying in the golden waves of wheat in the summer heat.
The damp clothes on your back porch:
a reminder of our nightly visits to the pond's cool, sweet water.
A reminder of the last patterns we still choose to follow.
We are running out of time to make beautiful things.
One day, we will return to the warm dark places we escaped from.
I know that there might not be a meaning to any of this,
but I would like to be remembered.
So focus on your breath around me. How the skin around your navel
jiggles
when you laugh. I can't help but compare it to bread.
It is as marvelous as watching bread rise. It is marvelous
how this organ fills and empties itself to the rhythm we call life.
It is marvelous how light escapes from the cracks they left behind.
I wish I could knead the pain out of all the obsidian places
as if they were knots in your back.
But I cannot wipe the green from the leaves.
I can only rest here
with you,
and bask in the granular silence.