Recollection

a rem(a)inder of light slants across fields
a bleached photograph of what was:

consider: memory, an alibi for end,
nostalgic dusk air aching for yesterday

boys’ dancing fingers bleed dust and straw,
breathe in hometown

(a return)

fall harvest
spills over bruised roads.
the clay tides are turning,
upheaving, again
again;

machines cut through wheat and faded sky
(consider: love song)
(consider: elegy)

meanwhile,
I practice swallowing the horizon
WANTED: parting glance, Midwestern sunset
dead and/or
alive

(aren’t we all?)

when the river asks me how leaving
comes so easy I say:

indifference tastes sweet in the
back of the throat

By Margaret Schnabel

Biography:

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.