Pining for Homework

Vinn McBride, First Place 3/3

No one calls me while I am doing the homework of sweeping a sidewalk and thinking about the accumulation of pine needles that have been growing for five years and thinking through the stories of the what, if you called, I would tell you. I would tell you about grandpa-the-asshole on my mind, about my gender being on my mind, the gender I don’t have and the gender I do, about priesthood denied and returned about wanting my head dipped in oil and set alight with a crown of glory. I would tell you I’m angry about being the one sweeping this sidewalk free I would tell you I want to set these dry needles alight to free myself from the irritation of these annoying stabbing bastards in my shoes let the fire blaze and swallow the pine completely, the trees and the stick thin boards that make up the house w with this goddamn tree shedding needles, pine pine pine. Fuck, but I want a mouth swollen from kissing, I want someone to treat me kindly and drag their hands over my waist, and welcome me into a home, a real home, and here I am house proud of a house I don’t own and that landlords don’t care for my breasts unbound in a house dress and no one to welcome me back inside– I am off topic, I am doing my homework, I am thinking of essays that ask me

give name to something unnamed in your youth. There are splinters in my hands. There are needles in my feet. I will pick them out alone. And then, I promise I will sit down, and I will do my homework, make the keys sticky with sap from the pine.