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a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
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a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
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[Content warning: wildfire, mention of death] I saw her pray to the burning trees & hungry frogs ![]() throats open. Licking leaves. Ashing the sparkle. Don't you remember what starless night smelt like? Ten thousand crisp knuckles packaged under broiling critters the children of petroleum & lighting fever. It's our God, she said It’s our God. Begging my sister is like begging a stump: it won’t uproot if you scream at it. Eldorado Forest winked, chuckled, spewed plumes of birds Oh God, she whooped, why isn’t she coming out?!? It’ll be okay Naomi it’ll be okay it’ll be okay I held her baby-weathered hand & watched an accident ravage a bleeding heaven-scar straight through the canopy of mocking firs & crackling gooey frogs they used to sing, now they bite their tongue & wait for nosediving flies. Tell me that Placerville & Jackson & the Mother Lode liked haircuts. They cozied the feeling of lost dogs. Dead mothers. Those little things left behind. Tell me they’d look you in the eyes six & a half & tear-drenched & whisper Remember, Mr. take some for the road. Don’t tell anyone, but I squirmed when we prayed together & took turns rolling in the grass, yapping ‘till the firemen schlepped us out of amphibian soup with a metal ladle. The aluminum rungs kissed a bouncing siren. Mama. Wisp to Summer’s loaf. Did you like feeling warm again? Did you like it when a house became an ember & a dog was a star? I know you miss her,
but don’t worry, Naomi. I’ll call the frogs to yodel again next year. Comments are closed.
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Unless otherwise noted, all pictures used are open-source images in the public domain. Archives
September 2023
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