1st Place (Teen) - July 2013


We love books. We love the way they make us feel intelligent. We love

how they’re arranged in bookstores promising praise perched on pillars of persuading

We love their inner bodies manipulating metaphors in our minds of what is real

and make-believe. We love

how they feel. Skin-smooth covers recall

pre-marital sex before our skin wrinkled and wilted with age and abandon. We love the way

cocked, like open doors taking us in. Shutting and locking the door behind.

Oh yes, we love books.

Here’s what we do with books. We buy them just

when they’re ripe and storefront.

We imagine ourselves becoming smarter worldlier worthier as we carry them to the car.

We stack them on our bedsides and begin

staring at their pages

entering their evanescent empires of escape

occupying the silence and stillness of the room.

Each book is acknowledged, if not wholly understood

thrown out into the mountain of others we forgot we had.

We’ve already bought more.

~ Carly Breault