Kate Peterson is a third-year English major with minors in Publishing and French. She spends her time baking too much and missing her cat from home. Kate loves storytelling, whether that is books, movies or even video games. She hopes to write her own novel one day.
Sea Stone
Beaten by the waves, until You were made perfect. You made me pause My wandering and pluck You from the damp sand. Smooth as silk yet, Hard and cold– You are a paradox of beauties. Glistening in the morning sunshine, Like a diamond, I found you amongst millions of others. White with black speckles, Like vanilla bean ice cream. Orange cracks squiggle and split your surface– Imperfect– But, irreplaceable. I needed to have you. I needed to latch on to that cloudless day Even when I was back across an ocean again, In another world with no fine sand or easy smiles. Now I hold you, so far From where I found you, I can remember that morning, When you became mine. The sky was bright blue, Blinding even, and I was blissful. You are soft in my palm But heavy with a burden, a precious memory. My young mind loses grip on it day by day. Will I ever return to that place again? Or lost in the waves like I am?
Things I Should Not Forget
In the morning, I eat eggs and toast. The coffee pot is hot, I must not touch the glass, Or I will burn my fingers. After breakfast, I take my medicine. Today is Saturday, May 14th. I am supposed to swallow the pills in the “S” compartment. Today, I see Dr. Larson. He makes me say: My name is Whitney. My husband’s name is Clyde. I have five children. One, two, three, four, five. All of them spread to different cities. The ball was red, the kitten was white. Red sky at night, sailor’s delight, Red sky in the morning, sailor’s warning. In the morning, I eat eggs and toast. The coffee pot is hot, I realize after burning my fingers. After, I take my medicine. Today is… well, it’s the weekend. I am supposed to swallow the pills, But I don’t know the date. Today, I see my doctor. My doctor makes me say: My name is Whitney. My husband’s name is Clyde. I have five children. One, two, three, four– All gone away somewhere. The ball was… red? The kitten was… white? Red sky at night, sailor’s delight, Red sky in the morning, sailor’s warning. In the morning, I eat eggs and toast. After… I am supposed to do something. Today is? I’m supposed to swallow All these pills? I have an appointment? The doctor makes me say: My name is Whitney. My husband’s name is Clyde. I have children. One, two, three– All gone away. Something was white. Red sky at night, sailor’s delight, Red sky in the morning, sailor’s warning. In the morning, I eat. After … I’d rather lie in bed. Pills? Appointment? The doctor makes me say: My name is Whitney. My husband’s name is Clyde. What do you mean? He is no longer alive? I have children. One, two– All gone. The sky is red, So very red. I can’t tell If it’s morning or night.
Wade
There, across the water, On the other side of the canal, He sits in his favorite armchair, Waiting. The salty blue waves Lick at the creased leather like A hunting dog licks his prize, Waiting. The prized heads Of the hunted watch From their perches On the wood-paneled wall, Waiting. The drone of his television Drowns out the whining Of the hungry tide, Waiting. Can he hear it Rushing in, creeping closer And closer up the rocks? Can he feel it Pooling around his ankles And filling his tired slippers? He has teased death, The inevitable thing, For so long. But, now he is Slipping Deeper. He stands. His knees submerged. Nowhere else to hide. With a sigh, He dives in.
