pull back the gun, heavy in your hands
and you hear it sigh, an hourglass
turned. whispers like hail.
and you remember
the poppy fields.
trigger clicks and those bursts of red bloom,
you close your eyes
so the target never leaves.
ten thousand wind chimes surrounding me scream
with the dark petaled smell of the city
so that no one can hear the shot.
there was a light far away that only i see
and it was taken from me, too.
the desert so dry that only beautiful things bloomed
is where i stay, forgotten.
you see no blood fields there.
a man once walked for miles
said he circled the world
and the desert never ended.
so i kick up dust
just ashes from a ghost town so
i can one day bloom too.
Raisa Tolchinsky was born in Portland, Oregon and moved to Chicago when she was three. She has been writing since then. Outside of writing, she competes in rock climbing and wishes to travel someday. She is 14 years old.