2019 Adult Poetry

1st PLACE

A Part of the Clouds

by Brittney Blaskowitz Prichard

As a child, I was quite practical: trained as a grocery store check-out clerk, taking all the canned goods out of the cabinets, emptying the fridge of its stale leftovers only to slide them across the kitchen table, punch their value into my father’s calculator with the rolling paper, give myself a total, bag them up, turn around and unload them all again hoping this time there would be something better to eat besides cans of Spam and green beans, dented chicken and stars.

In the evenings, I moonlighted as a librarian begging my brothers to check out copies of Berenstain Bears or Beverly Cleary knowing all along they would forget to return them in time— they’d owe me a dime for every day they were late. This is how I saved up enough for the basket of lighters I gave everyone for Christmas—so proud of my ability to save, my thoughtful gift of fire. I did not realize I was killing everyone— the long, slow drags they took in circles on the patio. I wanted to be part of the clouds, to unfurl my hair from its tight kept bun—and dance.

2nd PLACE

For Years

by Katie Ellen Bowers

For years -- I have scrubbed myself raw.

Spread ointments and lotions against the roundness of my cheeks and along the length of my legs to reduce the blemish of redness or roughness.

I have thrown-up in toilets.

Wiped spit and bile from my lips in the bathroom of a Piggly Wiggly, a pizza place, or the quiet stalls of a high school.

I have slapped and pulled and pinched myself.

My thighs for their size and cellulite; my breasts for not being creamy enough or pert enough; my labia for being too lippy, for not being a neatly-cute button of sex.

I have hidden underneath covers.

I have refused to be seen, had sex only in the darkness of a bed, and I’ve cried when my husband has seen me naked when I wasn’t expecting him to --

for years.

Covers upon covers up on cov ers up cov her up

Cover her up.

HONORABLE MENTION

The Coming of the Christmas Creep

by Joy Colter

Alexandra Petri of the Washington Post article on November 10, 2014: “Waging A Noble War Against Christmas Creep” Clement Clark Moore who penned “A Visit From Saint Nicolas”

‘Twas the tenth of November, and all through our town were the typical fall hues of orange and brown. The neighborhood doors carried hay-bundled sheaves or wreaths covered in autumn flowers and leaves. School windows were speckled with posters and pictures of corn, harvest horns, and more Thanksgiving fixtures. The local fall festival would be here soon with rides and games for children that afternoon. The grocery store downtown had hoisted a sign reading “Thanksgiving Sale: Turkeys $10.99.” The city and citizens in their own way prepared for the coming of Thanksgiving Day.

When subtly sudden (though I don’t know when, or just where it started, or how it began) but some point that day or while we were asleep, He snuck his way in town – the great Christmas Creep! He’s quite nondescript – neither dashing nor cute – Just a schlub in a tinseled-down jingle-belled suit, but to get in eyesight or earshot of that man makes one think “It’s Christmas for which I must plan.” Somehow he released in the town’s atmosphere that November means ‘Christmas is pretty much here,’ and slowly but surely our focus saw shifts from turkeys and pumpkins to fir trees and gifts.

Creep’s creeping on each city sidewalk and street made us wish for snow and not leaves under our feet. The neighbors and schools scrapped depictions of fall; once the Christmas Creep strolled past them, winter was all:

Christmas wreaths were hung with icicle lights, and children drew Santas and sleighs soaring heights. Each storefront on Main Street had put up a tree with the brightest ornaments you ever did see. The local fall fest – now a winter bazaar, and that’s not the strangest thing I saw by far. Creep crept into TV ads through local stations, pushed end-of-year sales ‘longside Christmas donations. He touted “Black Friday!” to help stores survive (and so we’d forget Thanksgiving was s’posed to arrive). The Creep made the church bells ring old Christmas songs. Without even knowing it, I sang along so filled with the spirit of Christmas. Remember, when Creep made this happen, it’s not yet December! And right when I thought nothing else could be said, the Creep turned the cityscape white, green, and red!

The Christmas Creep’s treatment had sent my head reeling, I shook myself free from all this Christmas feeling. It seemed crazy he could get ‘way with this – spinning Thanksgiving as a day no one would miss. I stood up to the Creep, shouted “this can’t be real!” Hey, I love Christmas too, but Dude, what’s the deal?!” I reached to grab him and yelled “Change it all back!” but that Creep! He’s transparent – which botched my attack. The Creep smiled and told me, “My work here is done, but I’ll leave you with one last word before I’m gone: Next year when I come to makeover this scene, I’m going to start sooner – before Halloween!”

HONORABLE MENTION

Traveling Oeuvre d’Art

by Debbie Hammond Lancaster

for Mother

Next time you will notice her as you hasten to the grocery store or when you drive tree-lined streets with slanted parking spaces where historic buildings still stand, where everything

is not yet gone. The resolute traveler, the efficient walk each step a collection of courage and willpower –arms bent, hands ready to grasp and appreciate

whatever steadies – a railing, a door, an arm of a loved one. She will pause for a brief moment to admire what she doesn’t remember she forgot

or to muster another ounce of effort and a smile for passersby who sidle on with ease –the buckles, the crumble of the sidewalk a simple path to their nimble feet.