we are born knee-deep in soybean fields
the afternoon air thick with blackberries
i am skinned knees and shaky legs on a bicycle
at what point does the ink bend to form a name?
at what point does the name bend to form a girl?
the bending comes easy now. heads of cornstalks
bow to brighter, colder days and bleached bones
a boy says he loves me around a maple tree
and i swallow the bark. this is the first time.
this is not the last time. shaky legs give way to
shaky hands and bad action movies in velvet
i find myself wishing i was a sparrow’s silhouette
and spill my name to the stars every other night
at what point does the girl bend to form a moon?
today, every moment of my body strains to leave
with the setting sun, with the birds sweeping south
but i drown in sun-hardened land on all sides
and bruise blackberry, never good at picking locks.
Margaret Schnabel is a sixteen-year-old musician, writer and artist who wants to grow up to be a surgeon (and a poet). She currently resides in Indiana, but dreams of living in New York City and visiting the MoMA every day. Her poetry and art can be found at www.starrymar.tumblr.com.