After the party by Alex Lalli (17, Georgia)

the steel house hummed with sweat. 
I could see my body, pink and tulle, 
not drunk but dizzy, 
hit a slate of blue air. 
I’m used to tall boots, so I stutter in silver.
But I clung to the way you said 
“Woah there” 
like a horse's neck. ​

---

On the walk home, the street lights blushed,
and you were trying not to grip on too hard.
Once or twice I slipped, 
hitting the edge of stone and cold grass. 
Your eyes apologized so quickly. 
I held that gaze like a breath, 
drinking its warmth in tea colors. 
Ones that bloomed bruises on my knees. 
    Rum, 
              gold, 
                         plum, 
                                       and ash. 
                                                          I drank it all, 
                                                         steeping in the pavement. 

But soon, cups empty 
and clarity comes 
under quaint porch lights. 
You stared, soft and sad, 
like a schoolteacher. 
And I learned that your eyes 
were brown, 
brown as the dirt on my heels, 
and that sometimes people 
are just being kind. 

I guess I was too drunk 
to see anything 
even slightly more poetic 
than that.

---

I'm Alex Lalli (she/her), a 17 year old senior at The Westminster School in Atlanta, GA. Writing is one of the most important parts of my life and something I truly cherish. At school, I'm the head editor of our literary magazine Evolutions, which seeks to workshop and publish any student writing in a manner that preserves the author's genuine voice. I also founded the school's Writing Club, which provides a space for writers to generate work freely and receive feedback.