Los Angeles, 2005
by Ashley
We walked through what was left--
milk cartons bobbing
in the street’s rivered throat, a bicycle
half-sunken in the mud, wheels
still & rusting, spokes like the silent hands
of a broken watch. The wind
howled for mercy, for the fury
that ripped through the wounds
of shattered windows. In the overflow
of a gutter, a doll’s face grays
through the storm, eyes beady, blue
& wide, silent as the dress clung
like seaweed to her frame—fluttering
like a flag of surrender. Across the street
mourners light candles—flames
trembling like ghosts against walls
that once held us. We stood, mud
hiding our ankles from sight, weeping
thick tears into the air, our voices receding
with the water: not knowing
if anyone could hear us praying
for strength to stitch us whole,
to sew us back together.
milk cartons bobbing
in the street’s rivered throat, a bicycle
half-sunken in the mud, wheels
still & rusting, spokes like the silent hands
of a broken watch. The wind
howled for mercy, for the fury
that ripped through the wounds
of shattered windows. In the overflow
of a gutter, a doll’s face grays
through the storm, eyes beady, blue
& wide, silent as the dress clung
like seaweed to her frame—fluttering
like a flag of surrender. Across the street
mourners light candles—flames
trembling like ghosts against walls
that once held us. We stood, mud
hiding our ankles from sight, weeping
thick tears into the air, our voices receding
with the water: not knowing
if anyone could hear us praying
for strength to stitch us whole,
to sew us back together.
Ashley is a high school junior in San Jose, California. Out of all the writing genres, she enjoys poetry and creative writing the most. Her work can be found or is forthcoming in Blue Marble Review, Press Pause Press, JUST POETRY!!!, among others. She is an alum of the Iowa Young Writers' Studio. In her free time, she enjoys playing golf, listening to music, and spending time with friends.