It seems now we always were.
We were all so close.
Yet not so close as to be beyond back stabbing.
In this we went to find nature.
And through the thick leafless forest we froze.
And watched tracks.
Over snow trodden treasures.
Bury
For it is the Squirrels that tend to bury what they find..
I would bury to forget or leave unreconciled, in belief.
That made it better.
That pond was frozen.
and the new snow absorbed the sound into whispers
to make an isolated memory.
Nothing could have happened then because the world was perfect.
Or I knew no better.
The way the fat kid was so sensitive.
Made for great conversation or flirt.
Not to be deceived,
Fat kids always freeze first.
The higher your metabolism the less clothing you need in the snow.
it's how a three day memory lasts forever.
We dug no nests to keep our chests warm.
Too bad the storm missed us.
I never get the big ones.
Maybe we could put the fat kid under the snow.
Silence your muffled calls.
I buried all of you where you belong,
In corners I promised the light would never touch.
where accumulative dust choked out the truth
and knickknacks paraded their obsolescence.
I have tried,
but To keep the past buried
I need more than silent snow.
I need a blizzard.
And I never get the big ones.
Dennison Bertram, gr. 10
First Place - Poetry Contest
Photo by Elizabeth Bailey, gr. 9