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By Kelsie Webb
Second Place Poetry Winner of The Makeshift Review's Writing Contest 2021
My feet pound the ground, sending dust into the air
They can’t match my heartbeat
Running is freedom -
I am freedom
I fly through the door and am trapped once again.
This house
This place
Running, I can pretend I am home
Home is not here
It used to be, but not since talk of war assaulted my house
Not war on strangers in a foreign land
Even worse, war on the people I love
War fought against the people I love, by the people I love
I am in the middle
The rope with which tug of war is played
My mom threatens custody
My dad stays
My dad threatens to take the house if he can’t be my chaperone at the zoo
My mom obeys
They try to keep it quiet, only talk at night
But I hear
Their quiet talks at night create a nightmare during the day
School is my escape, but not really because the images are burned into my brain
Sad and angry looks that I am not meant to understand, but I do
A week ago, my teacher started to ask me why I don’t skip at recess anymore
My brain screamed a million thoughts in a million different voices
Begging my lips to cooperate and release my sadness for someone to capture and tame
Words wouldn’t form
My shoulders shrugged and my eyes tried to water
But there was no depth of water - there is no depth of water - to draw the tears up from
It is too deep to reach
Oasis
That is what I need
We talked about it last week in english when we watched Bridge to Terabithia
A place to be rested, thirst to be quenched amidst a desert
I am in a dessert
Or I used to be
Now I am part of the desert
A plant not meant to be there that began to wither after the first drought
I need water
I need water to cry my tears then replenish my soul
Will anyone come and water my frail stem?
My parents say they care, but how can they when they leave me here like this?
If they cared, they wouldn’t argue
If they cared, they wouldn’t use me in their tug of war
If they truly cared, they would let go of the arguing and focus on me
It’s recess, but I don’t want to be outside
I sit in the library
Sometimes I read books, sometimes I sleep
Today, I wander through the isles
A book that doesn’t seem to belong catches my eye
It is tattered and worn
What I would imagine that my soul looks like now
Far too early for an 11 year old
I pull it down and find a strange sense of comfort in finding something that I feel relates to me
I hold it lovingly before opening the pages
I had wanted to take it to the librarian, angry that such an old and worn book was here - that I was here
But once it was in my hands, I couldn’t help but love it.
There are names in the beginning
Lots of names
I turn another page to find the title
The Holy Bible
I begin to put it down, I had heard of this in church
Of love and kindness
That didn’t seem to stop my parents
The book touches the shelf, I’m ready to put it back when something compels me to pull it back
I open it and read
Tears flow down my cheeks as I meet Jesus
His love
His grace
He cares
Oasis.
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