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Andrew Yang Instant Oats
From some long ago morning in my mind, three white, porcelain bowls of warm rice congee with salted radishes, one for me, one for my mom, and one for my dad, sit on the table, eaten slowly before we, all three, piled into our old sedan to send me off to my wide-eyed days of preschool. At first, I was trying to please my parents showing them how grown up I was and how I no longer needed them. It started with toast, cereal, things I could make with a microwave. Now they sleep in, and I rise earliest to fend for myself. It is Monday morning. The house is quiet except for the water I have set to boil on the gurgling stove. Everything is frozen blue, covered in the frost of the icy morning light. I am the only thing alive in this, the world ending in ice, or else awakening. Down the hall my dad is rising, I hear him coming towards the kitchen and think, perhaps on this morning, we will eat together, again, as it used to be. There is silence for a moment as he stops, then the hum of computer fans as he turns on his laptop and sits at his desk. I take the oatmeal from the table to my computer and eat it alone over Sportscenter and rock music shapelessly pounding from my headphones.
Mallika Rangan Dear Mr. Red AuerbachDear Mr. Red Auerbach,
Where do I start? What do I say?
How can I thank you for the history you wrote,
Before you passed away?
When racism was in the air everyone breathed,
And everyone’s skin color was supposed to be the same,
How did it feel to be the first coach
To start five black players in a game?
Would you be proud of how far we’ve come,
Proud of the racial boundaries we’ve broken,
Now that equality for everyone,
Is more than a dream left unspoken?
If only you could see us now!
We’re taking paths uncharted,
Only to continue the legacy,
That you so long ago started.
Dear Mr. Red Auerbach,
Would you be disappointed in us as well?
Would you be ashamed at our failure to cherish our past,
because we’re so focused on ourselves?
Would you want to remind our star players,
About that time so long ago,
When pure love of the game
Overpowered love of the dough?
Would you shake your head in shame,
At the cheerleaders in skimpy outfits?
The gimmicks put up by the management,
To fatten up their own wallets?
Would you shed a tear or two if you heard
About the betting from referees?
Trying to hoard the money for themselves,
While destroying basketball’s integrity?
Would you let out an aggravated sigh,
If you could see the low levels to which we resort?
That fandom is now more about how many jerseys you own,
Than appreciating the beauty of the sport?
As it sets in that you’re gone,
We humbly admit,
That the lessons you taught us so well,
We so often forget.
We get so caught up in gimmicks,
We get so obsessed with the fame.
It’s sometimes hard to remember,
From where exactly we came.
Red, please don’t get me wrong.
There are still a few players who see,
That the passion of the game,
Matters far more than the money.
For what we’ve done, please forgive us.
Know that no matter how far we stray
from your wise words and your legacy,
We’re only one heartbeat away.
Sarah Lockwood Blue ComfortCome now,
lie down beneath me.
Let me cover you.
No light can penetrate into the depths
of my soft, thick down.
I promise not to laugh at your tears,
but please-
do us all a favor and hide those red puffy eyes
from the world.
Under here,
no one will be able to see
the way the muscles in your face contort
and how ugly you look when you cry.
I can't protect you forever,
but at least you can feel safe
here-
for perhaps twenty minutes
until they come for you.
In the meantime I'll do my best
to block out the voices coming from the other room,
but I can only muffle their words
and break up the sentences
into fragments.
And once you've quieted, just close your eyes;
fall asleep and perhaps you'll find yourself
in the embrace of a loved one you've been dreaming for
and not just,
an old blue comforter.
So come now.
I'll be your secret refuge
and blanket your cold body
with silence and peace.
I won't love you,
but I'll certainly keep you warm for a little while.
Alexander Herbert GrandpaA Grandpa hobbles around wrinkled like clothes left in a dryer
into a proud father working long hours to support his family of six
into a young man back from the war all his friends dead
into a naive adolescent just enjoying life
into a young boy with scraped knees and bruised elbows
into a baby so innocent and unknowing of the world ahead
Kate Burke Woes of a Wise Fool My English teacher asked us to write a poem “Who I Am From The Inside Out” But I can’t tell you that, my dear teacher, Because I have no clue myself. I rarely stop to wonder “Who Could I Really Be?” I’m too busy rushing to take down Every word my teachers speak, Trying to catch every syllable. If I miss something, I could fail, Not just the test or the semester or the class, But I could fail high school! And that would mean: I wouldn’t get into a good college and I wouldn’t be able to take the right classes so I wouldn’t be able to get a good job And I’d be stuck taking orders At some slummy fast food joint FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE! “Hello, welcome to Burger King! May I take your order?” I’m not sure how I can even take the time To write this poem in the first place. I mean, I should be studying for Biology. Or Spanish. Or Geometry or History or Latin, Cuz you know, I could fail the test, And we already know what happens if I fail the test. The first week of high school The principal had an assembly for all the freshmen And she said, “Welcome to High School, I want you to enjoy your time here!” But really all she was saying was, “Welcome to Hell, I hope you don’t die before 2012!” I mean, I’m sixteen And I should be able to live a little, Before I get to 2012. IF I get to 2012. Cuz you know, I could fail the test. Honestly, I want to be able to wear my hair any way I like And dance in the rain And paint pictures of pink umbrellas and trumpets. Really I want to do whatever I like And not have to be told, “Do your homework. Clean your room. Or you might FAIL.” I want to eat ice cream for dinner And take a drive at midnight Without having my mom in the passenger seat. I want to drive for miles and miles And let my hair flow behind me. Out on the open road there are no tests, Except for maybe whether to turn Right or left? And whether I choose right or left, There’s really no way I can fail Because either path will lead To a whole new adventure.
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