The dripping of ice
is enough to drive me mad–
a wet cave floor slick
with memories is
nothing to swear by. He does
laugh sometimes, but can
not grin. I dream of
the world outside our stone walls,
built right underneath
purple mountains with
misty air or perhaps a
gangling forest
filled to the brim with
busy insects. My growing
mind is filled with things
I am not sure are
real. All I know are reaching
water streams and the
way his eyes perceive
my figure. I am sure more
coves hold other bits
of me, but he will
never let go of my sun-
lust hands. Some days I
do not know which of
us is guilty of capture.
I always try to
hold him an arm’s length
away, to pretend to find
meaning without him.
—
Rachael Newby is a tenth grader at Barbara Ingram School For the Arts. She is a passionate member of the Creative Writing Department and wishes to excel during her next three years of learning in her art. She has become enthusiastic about creative nonfiction and poetry this year, pulling her out of her fiction-only mindset. Rachael has read pieces at events such as the school-wide Gala, the Earth Week opening ceremony, and Poetry Speaks. She hopes to become more involved in spoken word poetry over the next few years and refine her skills.