By Roopa, age 17, California
her skin has become a vapid prairie field,
the scent of indigo trees and rainwater
woven deep beneath her rib cage.
and she holds her breath like
storms cotton-lathered overhead
as her fingers spool to clasp dandelions,
but their sinews have evaporated into
the skies and teardrops pour from her eyes
upon the hollowed florets in her parched palm.
a drowsy sunset curls around her ankles
and follows her into bed until the weeping
of the indiangrass between her bones is