ditch,

the poetry that matters

Julia M. Allen

Julia M. Allen is currently a high school sophomore attending Susquehanna Valley Senior High School in the United States. Her work has been published in This Great Society, Teen Ink, KidSpirit Online, and more. She is the recipient of several Gold Keys from the Scholastic Awards and is a finalist for the 2013 Nancy Thorpe Poetry Contest. She works as a Second Reader for Polyphony H.S.

 

Unhinged

 

She heard the cry of a seafarer

Off the Pacific, giving birth to a sea lion

Prematurely

 

Carl's letters come in intervals

Of one, three, seven weeks

His t's seamless like contour drawings

Suggesting his pencil works quickly

When upright

 

For me, the hour hand passes thirteen times

And rewards a mere handful of words

If that

 

Sometimes, between hurricanes, I'll fold myself

Into a dodecahedron

Passing strangers on the beach

Asking,

"Does your edge match mine?"

 

 

 

 

 

Phillip Sketched

 

only as a hobby                    he swore

             like a mother promises their child

   the prick     won't

                                   hurt

(it does, every single time

         whether for the            fleeting flu

                                  shingles

                                                         or hepatitis)

 

   it started with a hand                the typical start

                          an artist's early embrace

the knuckles formed

                nails lengthened            calluses emerged 

                                               it was almost as if

                                                               he were

                                                                               God

 

he sketched of Better Days

                        ones of honeysuckle

                    frozen pizza

                        toilet paper

                    a pay check

 

     pencil after pencil he shortened

many discarded                    at the foot

                                                     of the barstool

             Michelle used to sit at

       giggling

                              over a homemade martini

 saying everything

                         was faint

                                                            with lilac dew

 

 

 

 

 

 

Somewhere Where

 

irises sing/and the sun worships/you will find her/kissing every browning leaf/and renaming the constellations/what a wonder she is/like a fountain or a dove/or a warm winter day/she is not like glass/because she is enduring/we shall call her/Eve

 

 

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                                                                                                             March 16, 2013