2nd Place (Teen) - July 2013


i sit at the window
and glance outside.
it rains. my computer says
that in Iondon it is sunny.
my tea scalds my lips,
and the tea bag label soaks through
when placed in the sink.
the dog is outside
and wants to come in,
looking like a wilted flower
and whining at the door,
but i don't have the energy
to even leave my seat
because you're not here.
it rains.
how is it in london?
the chair opposite me is always empty
and when the dog sits there
i scold her, like as if
she were a toddler.
my mother says i'rn crazy,
but it waits for your return.
would you like a cup of tea?
my ink always blots through my paper,
and there is a monstrous pile
of little balls of previous attempts
sitting by the back door.
sometimes they make it into envelotpes,
but usually not.

have you ever tried to write?
i bake brownies and waft their scent through the house.
it doesn't feel as empty that way.
but you won't get any,
they are all to be given
to those who remained behind
and to myself.
i sit at the window.
i glance at the rain,
and my tea,
and the chair,
and the poor dog outside,
and my blotted paper,
and the plate littered with crumbs.
they're all just things
you left behind
and forgot to clean up.
is there no better excuse that that
to return?

~ Liz Montroy