Fire & Stones
Issue 32
Morning We wake up On our own In our own time In our own beds We throw on our clothes, Look in the mirror, And decide This outfit Doesn’t work, Not for today. Today is different. The expected sloping “o” Has company today. A stubby “u” wedges its way Into the middle. So this is not A normal morning After all.
We change Into something darker, More somber, For this somber occasion. We chip the frowns Off our faces And plaster On smiles. No one Can know How we feel. We commute, Staring out the windows Of our cars, But not truly seeing The world around us. The buildings Dark smudges On the horizon. Everything A blur.
We step out Onto the wilted grass And merge Into one. We sit In perfectly straight lines, Staring straight ahead. The silence consumes us. There are flowers, Too white and delicate. They stand out Against the muted black. We can’t look at them. Too bright. Too perfect. We struggle To keep the smiles Plastered on, But tears Slide silently down our cheeks.
We stare At the dying grass. At the somber sky. At our shaking hands. At anything But the box. We try not to think About what is inside, But how can we avoid Its heavy presence? We wake up On our own, But we mourn Together. —Lena Weiman ‘21
Hummingbird —Makeda Melkie ‘19 16
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