The times when the world doesn’t have a grasp on her
she teeter-totters on the brink of her sanity and the brink of the world.
She can’t talk, but when her fingers delicately ease back the smooth wood and
reveal a new realm of black and white
she can sing and her eyes
turn into stars tumbling into the sea
it’s funny to me
the sea paints its own tides into lonely, psychedelic murals and rolls them
across the world but where do they even go?
Everything disappears into splattering frenzy and I can’t even tell if
the stars are soundlessly whirling into black holes
and the heavens are straining to fall to earth
and the oceans are trying to escape into the skies.
Age 14, Grade 9
Hunter College High School