May 2011 - Comments Off

A Bit of Dried Grass, Broken Off Onto Live Coals

Sara Judy '11

Laughter in the buffet line.
Someone behind me made
a joke about three-legged horses.

I grin as quietly as possible
at the baby in front of me
making a fortress out of her

mother’s? cousin’s? sister’s?
shoulder. I worry about being creepy.
I worry about being

overdressed. I try to be easy
in my stance, in the way I scoop
potatoes onto my plate

and use up all the aerosol
in the whip cream can. Later,
at his funeral, someone

passes me a bowl
of loose cigarettes.
They look like the beams

that are left stacked
next to train tracks,
half buried in snow,

waiting to be used in repair.
We all light up together, and
kill ourselves a little, in memory of.


About the Author: Sara Judy '11 studies literature, and was recently awarded an American Academy of Poets prize for her senior thesis in poetry.

Published by: in Poetry, Volume 67: Issue 2

Comments are closed.