by Olivia Leemon

A Ghazal for the Love of Things

Second Place in Poetry

Louise Allen Creative Writing Contest

I find myself lingering too long in thrift stores, spending the day looking at things,

Touching trinkets that many hands before mine have cast away, these poor things.

Bouncy balls in red metal canals, breathing air the instant they touch my fingers,

Curated neon rainbow of textures and patterns, here with me to stay, my things.

Glass critters that look pretty enough to eat, enjoy the view from my windowsill,

Candy frogs and fish live in the forest of my plants, they thrive alongside my things.

Twinkling sparkle stones swing from my ears, should feel lucky to be picked from the bunch,

They jingle when I walk, they swish when I sashay, every shimmer and shade of these things.

I envelope myself in trinkets, doilies and glass hearts, scarves, string lights, love notes

To the way a piece of me feels connected to my silly display of things.

Monster Girlfriend

Honorable Mention in Poetry

Louise Allen Creative Writing Contest

Eyes yellow as spring daffodils, her skin is buttermilk smooth.

I don’t mind her pointy horns or her pretty little hooves.

When I present her with bursting blooms,

She gives me a dead squirrel.

Like every girl in the world, she likes bad magazines and a bath.

I wake up to her beautiful face

Staring at me from the foot of my bed.

I find her in the middle of the night enjoying bad magazines and a bath.

Her wiry hair glows in the green haze of the bathtub.

Yellow eyes under murky water,

I let her find her rest in bad magazines and a bath. 

At the end of a day of toil, I love to sit across from her over dinner.

A salad for me, and for her,

my pet bird. 

I pour out my heart to her, tell her about my daily anguish.  

Her soft face tilts up in contemplation,

Her sweet scratchy voice behind sharp shiny fangs tells me,

“Snoop Dogg get manicure when sad.”

She is so insightful. 

Her long bony fingers intertwine with mine. 

I run my thumb across her protruding knuckles.

She brings my hand to her lips

And sinks her teeth into it.

My deep red blood drips onto her near empty plate.

One blue feather,

And a reminder of my fate.

Before I wash the dishes, I fill up the tub.

Bubbles to the brim,

So she can enjoy her bad magazines and a bath.

In Response to Salt Circle

An after-poem to “Salt Circle” by Eliza McLamb

I didn’t understand 

why anyone would even want to

salt circle

anyone else’s brain.

I didn’t get

why you’d search for someone

after you’d both gone.

Then

why,

why did I still think of you?

You are the orange touch

of the sunrise when I swore

this was as light as it would get.

You remind me 

I’m always going to feel it,

and that you’ll be there

when I feel it all.

Did It Hurt?

Did you look at our pictures on the walls?

Did you feel the scratchy brown carpet underneath your feet 

as the morning sun came through the curtains? 

Did you walk into grandma’s room one last time

to see her last peaceful sleep for months?

Did you hear the John Deere clock 

make its tractor noise at the hour?

Did you hear the sheep you bought my brother

bleat as you walked outside? 

Did you roll the windows down and feel

the warm summer air as you drove?

Did you have second thoughts as you wound the truck 

along the twisty turny roads?

Did you pick this place because you and grandma

spent time here as teenagers?

Did you know it was our first day of school?

Did you enjoy the view of the trees before 

you did it? 

Who found you?

Did it hurt?

Olivia Leemon (she/her) is a sophomore Art major and Creative Writing minor who loves poetry, plants, trinkets, and painting.