Dawn bursts from the mother’s womb — lights the sky — all
golden snowflakes, scarlet rain, cinnamon dust across the old
spinning earth. Verdant trees go roseate. Stars fade like classic
folklore, bygone stories thrumming between skin and bone. It’s
a human thing, an anthropological wonder, an archaeological
artifact. No one thought they’d miss the gods’ wrath. Lightning
strikes the tree atop the hill — it’s a dark and stormy night. We
cup our hands, catch the tempest as it crashes, burning brilliant
even as it dies upon our palms. Cumulonimbus moves across
state lines, a traveler, nomadic as we were meant to be. It is
a human mystery, how we became sedentary — like falcons,
birds of a feather, we chased distant horizons, following them
to their glowing sunsets. Dusk settles down, gathers the kids
around a campfire to tell ghost stories. Wandering feet grow
stagnant, spirits retire to restfulness. Storm calms. Stars turn
the wheel of time, the sky, and human life. Farewell and begone.
Nadyne Sattar is a Bangladeshi American high schooler and poet raised somewhere between the sea and the Midwest. She writes about identity, youth, mortality, this ancient Earth, and other such messy things. Her work has been recognized by various organizations, including the National YoungArts Foundation and the Alliance for Young Artists & Writers.