lethargy

nowadays, edith is static
a shell in the absence

of craving. she used
to adore each sweet

fixation and learned
to unravel her thirst

like spools of thread but now confesses
that orchard pears bring the taste

of brine, their veins an estuary
of tangled webs pulsing, awaiting

expulsion from the tumid womb. edith
squeezes each naked ugly spine and

spits out each sightless eye like
fish flung back to sea, envies

their perfect breathlessness.
in her palm their bodies wither,

bare husks of dreams now
thought inglorious

By Amanda Huang

Biography:

Amanda Huang is a junior at Millburn High School, where she is a senior editor of her school’s literary magazine. Her work has been nationally recognized by the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards and JustPoetry, and has been published in TeenInk and in the Word magazine.