by Audrey Wang
Wind swallowed mud and
whipped my hair across my face
I wonder why, under this sky the
rainbow is the color of dirt - a crusty texture of soil
as if it vomited out all its color and decided to
choke down autumn dried leaves instead of
boiling them into tea
Naughty specks of rain stained
my white top. The rain tasted of dirt.
“Foreign beliefs shall not sink into my skull,” I whispered as I
rubbed my temples with tiger balm and tried to scratch out
every memory that clung on
My feet felt like pudding
as it dragged along the blades of grass,
walking for days and nights until I reached
the end of the rainbow, and -
sitting there, was a bonsai tree
tender, malachite leaves
that glowed even in the rainy weather
Veins of the trunk a story of a thousand years
its shape miniature
yet sturdy and deeply rooted, never old
Audrey Wang is high school sophomore who has a strong passion for writing poetry. She lives in Shanghai, China and goes to international school. Audrey is a member of her school’s literary magazine club and a member of the National English Honor Society, and has participated in the Kenyon Review Workshop this winter. Apart from creative writing, she enjoys reading romantic fiction, playing the violin, and video editing.
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