The Photograph
Between the frames, the camera
captures teal, splashing water, and my
brother’s legs kicking through the pool.
Behind the camera, pool water drips
from my hair, cold as the ice cubes
jostling in the drink I grasp tightly
in my hand. A symphony of hues
danced upon the pool’s surface, as
the turquoise blue water met the
gleaming golden sunrays, shining
through cracks between marshmallow
clouds. The leaves by the poolside
rustled, and short grass blades swayed
in the soft wind. Sunlight hugged us all.
Walking past the pool, scents mingled
in the air, from fragrant roses to toasty,
buttery pancakes, as stray leaves brushed
past my tanned, twiddling fingertips.
On the Walk Home
On the walk
home, while an icy drink cooled my
left hand, the flowers around me
released soft, fragrant scents. The
subtle sweetness of the roses was
intoxicating, while the dust of an array
of dandelions tickled my nose. Even
the slow buzz of bees seemed tuneful,
like nature’s quiet melody. Moss green
leaves brushed my fingertips as I trotted
through, entranced by the beauty of it all.
Even today, the scene replays in my mind.
——————
Yesterday, the sun shone through
my window at a quarter past six.
The alarm rang then, like the piercing
screech of an unwelcome rooster.
Mumbling and trudging, I hastily dressed
before a vehicle whisked me to school.
A blur of quiet laughter, presentations,
and questions passed through me like
harsh gusts of wind. When they passed,
peace settled in its place.
Vaguely Familiar
A postcard never sent.
Dust transfers to my
fingers as I examine it.
Ink has bled like veins,
turning its message faint.
The postcard holds a photograph
with no one looking at the camera.
Darting between the silhouettes,
my memory strains, catching on
vaguely familiar shapes.
One face holds me still, tied to
a name I almost remember.
Once easily spoken, now,
its syllables are hollow and dim.
As my eyes fixate, I hear the
echo of a goodbye they never gave.
I recall the sight of eyes darting,
feet stomping, and doors slamming,
before they vanished like snow on
a spring morning, leaving behind
nothing but a dark memory.
Grace Lee, a high school student in Seoul, South Korea, is passionate about words. Whether crafting stories or poems, she blends her unique perspective with the vibrant culture of Seoul. Excited to contribute to the literary landscape, Grace’s writing reflects the universal themes of adolescence in a big city.