Below is a piece I wrote back in 2010 that I submitted to the Borne Prize. I ended up being a finalist for the writing competition and it was later published in my high school’s literary journal.

– Dahv


Black beaked trapeze artists perch on the gutter.

Hornets’ nests crust the door hinge.

Shutters, open, tilt like flexed wings.

Welcome home.


The roof palms the house,

Stretches fingers, touches

The railing that brackets the patio.

A half-moon levitates above

The web of branches in the sky.


You left for dinner.

Backing up, your

Brake lights popped


blood vessels.

Your radio spoke of weather

And sports.


White walls border a blue carpet,

A beach without waves.

Eric sits in the tide pool,

Cardboard boxes

Moat him. Frozen peas

In the freezer date from

June, nineteen eighty-two:

The year he graduated,

The month you were fired.


Lay down,

I am your drawbridge, he said.

Was that you tapping on the window,

Like scales on the piano?

No, he said,

A woodpecker was giving the house eyes.


When I push its belly button,

I lock the bedroom door

And I sit on the bed,

Legs open like linen scissors.

When he lies on his stomach,

My feet king his shoulders:

We are a twisted centipede.


He forgot to warn you.

The gas gauge’s “E”

Holds an orange flash light:

One gallon remains.


Watch the thin cursor timber to the left,

Like the oak tree that hammocks

Branches on utility wires.

The radio stops speaking,

Doesn’t it?


 Photo Credit


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