RUNNER UP
Plural Poem by Jessica Chretien
are the ants and the petals the smooth red turned orange turned the beginnings of wilt plural are the legs of the ants I drown spraying their tiny bodies I don't want this but do and plural are the presses of my index finger the trigger the ants stopped dead in their busy tracks frozen on the windowsill as they keep coming up from the baseboards plural on the stems of the tulips on the rims of the mason jars I emptied plural are the bunches I bought the delight a bit of ground I had forgotten there was to lay on plural were the bottle caps I poured from the jar into the trash plural were the years I worked to save them and not the ants or the plants I abandon outside plural are the drops that do not fall that I do not weep for the ants but have wept for myself plural were the boy's fists against the back of my skull the lessons he tried to teach me plural were the spiders he saved the dishware he repurposed to carry them free plural were the ants I murdered thoughtless before he taught me otherwise plural are the ways we move through the world this hand doing this the other doing that plural are the ants the next morning stiff where I left them not at all coming up
Jessica Chretien is a person and poet from New Hampshire who only recently discovered, after twenty-five years of living, that she likes the sun, the ocean, plants, poems, making meals, reading Critical Theory, crying with gratitude, and being alive. She doesn't seem able to stop overflowing with wonder and suspects everything might just be okay. This past spring she won the Victor Howes Prize in Poetry through the New England Poetry Club.
PS SPRING 2021
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