Today's Strange Fruit by Halle Ewing (14, California)*

[Content warning: racial violence]​
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Hanging abandon, testament of life 
                lolling tongues 
                quirking mouths 
                fluttering eyelids, 
​look away we don’t see colors. The stench of
summer forces air into branches, rustling leaves,
up from what remains. Look towards it. Look up.

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                Ropes drift 
                guns ring 
                the world spins on, 
                roots stain red,
                people look away, 
                and the crimson infuses the 
                crop of our tree. 

When we pluck the stems off our low
hanging fruit, the souls come with, 
spirits collect and scatter to the wind like
a strange poplar seed.

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