River in my Backyard

Updated: Nov 5, 2019

by Audrey Molnar '19

If my plunged

fist released the oval pebble

it would sink.

But it didn’t.

I still feel it in

my rounded palm.

Water spilled between

my fingers, my jeans soaked

with the tilt

of my wrist.

It could have found rest.

But it didn’t.

Beside the rusted

harmonica, the gold ring, plastic.

My hand a

pillow. The delta

a funnel for what my

palm couldn’t hold.

I still feel

it in my rounded palm

like melting ice.


Recent Posts

See All

by Joshua Cable '22 The social outcome is obscure With that the teachers have endured The exotic sunset of our days Have written themselves to their graves Oh I fancy fabric of old With that I grew sl

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

by Sea '21 I am on a long and narrow road I walk day and night I do not know what state I am in I walk day and night The moment I came into the world I walked at the same time At an inn with two doors