sound of sadness seeping from
the shuttered window
children stuck inside their yellow boxes:
all the summer gone with april rain
and television screens.
bubbled dripping april mugsauce of
a monday morning: camera emptied
of its teachers. left to ponder
the contents of the yellow cupping glass
like little chickens on a windowsill
turned abstract by this time
my cup runneth over.
small defatted squabble with
the crouching mother on the stairs:
listens for the sound of cabinets
not even mice are home
little clasping memory of yarn and
pinking fingers: must have been the best of friends,
the letter swears and reaches silent from the window
please write back
i have already forgotten
the shape of her embrace.
By Olivia Lee
Olivia Lee is a senior at California School of the Arts – San Gabriel Valley. Her art and writing has been recognized by the Alliance for Young Artists and Writers, Princeton University, and the California Coastal Commission. She has work published, or forthcoming in Canvas Literary Journal, Polyphony Lit, Body Without Organs, Tab, The Journal of Poetry and Poetics, Blue Marble Review, and Apprentice Writer among others. In her spare time, she enjoys watching stationery hauls on Youtube and way too much anime on Crunchyroll.