The sun in the noon-day sky is a giant beaming dandelion severed from its stem,
Freely floating over the earth.
A disembodied puff of flower head
Liberated from earthly laws,
Immortalized above the clouds despite the passing
of its sister buds in the onslaught of November frost.
Upon a barren hill,
My fingers reach as headless stems
In vain to trace
Each honeyed, golden petal.
So fragrant and sweet they seem to me
As they cast their warmth unto the world below,
Greet my frosted cheeks
With floral kisses.
Days of plenty have laid themselves to rest in fallen leaves,
Now I, a beggar on a corpse of earth, reach out
To grasp its proffered petals in my palms,
Pocket as many as will fit within the confines of my coat.
Smuggled warmth stowed away
For colder days to come.
by Sarah Klema ’23 – Creative Writing Contest Winner
Exposure to the elements has worn it thin. Now fragmented, forgotten, it fights to be rediscovered.
Sulking at the bottom of the glassy rolling stream,
a treasure lies in patient wait.
Tarnished, wooden drawer knob of sorts, separated from its hollow body ages beyond telling––
antiquated. Curious thimble to behold, a shard of something unremarkable. Yet to my eye, it is as dear
as deep-sea pearl or silver doubloon.
Emanating an air of sad abandon, the knob’s story is untold. A pondering pity stirs in me. Whose hands,
long gone, once fumbled the knob? How came it off the drawer?
Now sheltered from the weather, it rests upon my bedroom shelf exuding a boastful sheen. Amongst my sea
of knickknacks, it counts itself most fair. Yet, nonetheless preserving that unadulterated charm
which first entranced my eyes.
What mysteries, deep, unspoken, lie beneath the knob’s dim surface, concealed by Time’s passing? Shall
I one day come to understand what makes it gleam so brightly, though all the polish is gone?