- Jan 5, 2020
- 1 min read

Insignificant

by Olivia Chohan '20

On May 22nd you grew two feathery wings.

We were clueless, far away, safe, dry.

There were seeds of hope but they were never planted,

because they were shadowed by a tree of worry.

Instead of black, I stood in pink.

Some days I want to bury myself in sand,

Or to climb a tree and never come down.

All man has is hand and foot;

a heart of granite, tears like the Ganges.

We are small.

What gets burnt does not grow back.

Recent Posts

See All

with only the moon’s fleeting company

Lillian Wagner / 9 The carcass lies on the sidewalk. Eyes like olives that never grew, looking back at me through a tinted window. A tongue hanging out of its mouth. It will never taste again. Never a

second-grade social

Ashley He / 11 second-grade social it is peculiar, to be in your body, but not quite, existent, feeling thick finger pads picking away the undone, frayed edges of the old church dress my mom made me w

Under the Poplars

jane doe Falling to nothing Find there is something Under the Poplars She sleeps the days I lie awake Don’t touch the bread I don’t mean what I said My mouth burns Jaw shut My fingers bleed I curl the