Bare Hands by Elena Ferrari (15, Massachusetts)

the tree splits open
and I see every pair of open arms 
I’ve ever known
some innocent most
decapitated and
decaying, they skulk
towards the version of me that
asked for a glass of water. opaqueness

---

hides my reflections in the neon-
lit bathroom mirror, burying
memories with bare hands
when I thought no one
was around. all my inward
intentions and times I
forgot to forgive
myself, I forget there is a future
made of a folded  
tablecloth.
I see how I consume but
am rarely
nourished, how the notebooks
ring out like cathedral
bells. how I
fell asleep among
measuring cups and mixing bowls,
ready to make something
of the next
day.

​