Pressed into Purple
There are two purple bruises
on each of my knees, one
for each of us. I pressed down
until the pain scurried away.
in a stranger’s lawn and
found us picking lavender. I told you
its smell is supposed to assist with sleep.
You took in
the late of night under my eyes, my
bulbous yawn, and asked me
how many monsters were keeping me up.
I didn’t need to explain
that the only monster under my bed
was the familiar twinge
of an absentee ache.
Now, this pain has blossomed
into four lavender stems, toughened
by the grasp of a persistent palm.
The language of your hand
said forever, but the way I placed
the lavender in the pages of my dictionary
made me wonder
if there was something more
I was trying to preserve.
By Sidney Muntean
Sidney Muntean is a high school student in the Creative Writing program at Orange County School of the Arts. She is the founder and editor-in-chief of a creative arts publication, The Junebug Journal. Her work has been recognized by various contests such as the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards and Kay Snow Writing Awards and most recently appears in Orca, Adonis Designs Press, and Sunspot Lit. Sidney also likes to dabble in performance poetry, as she won 3rd place with her team in the slam poetry competition OC RYSE.