Hazel Wong, class of 2026
Cold air burns my cheeks, now I spend my daydreams
screaming: on dark beaches, next to late-autumn trees.
I’d like to paint everything the darkest shades of green
and escape, in a bout of wanderlust, to the brightest fields.
Yet the street lamps crack, flickering on open seascapes
& neighbors sing against the wind in the happiest birthday
—cacophony of broken cries, garrulous gossip and silent waves.
The candles fog over; could never see you past thirteen,
anyways. At night, I shuffle through dry mire
claw to find traces of rain— (remnants of wistful criers)
& slink behind crowds in more loquacious shires
Funny, they haven’t seen such absense of flood in decades.
di di, I ordered a diluted coffee in your honor
and the gesture sank deeper than the bottoms of lakewater,
powdered brown clings onto dry air, once champagne weather
You’ll tell me, if you’re twirling with the carcasses of dragonflies
when the downstream empties into an open basin
& you narrowly miss the limestone in a surprising mid-spin?
Broken transmission: I don’t bet on losing dogs, the motions
just on familial anticipation, all the things that disappear.
Hi! I'm Hazel and I love creative writing. This one is (mostly) about how sad I am that it never actually rains here </3.