ghosts of blue hands
onto fogged glass windows
bubble-gum smell
from the ventilator
caked into the carpet
sugar fibers beneath my toes


in the snow, a pigeon’s
egg, red spilled out
on the crystal white
stomach pains
snaked around my


it’s like Thanksgiving dinner
and the sweet potatoes are too much
I’ll smash the china plates
hoard the jagged shards
to build you a house
hidden beneath
my cherry wood table. I’ll burn


the turkey until it crisps
red, boil the gravy
in a silver pot
and spoon-feed
the meal to you
just the way you like
down in our pretty little house


wind blows the egg shell over
I bend purple knees
to reach for it with my hand
the fiery life
that once lived inside
some cracked dream


footprints in the snow
I find wheezing
grass, tenderly packed soil
still burdened
by the wintry kiss
wet iris petals
soiled in dirt’s embrace
Zetetic separator
—Brooke DiGia is a high school writer based in New York. She has been published in numerous other literary magazines for young adults, such as Canvas Literary Magazine, Crashtest Literary Magazine, Teen Ink, Vine Leaves Literary Journal, and Sincerely Magazine. When she is not writing, she is playing with her cat, stumbling on the tennis court, reading Marvel Comics, or deliberately over which font to use in her next piece.

One Response

  1. Roland Petrov
    at · Reply

    An amazing piece captured so well. A difficult and emotional subject that lets the reader in on what’s going on, and lets us feel the raw emotion for ourselves.

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