august
stretches
out before me
like dirty kitchen tiles under my feet
hope
is whistling
from the mouth
of a ceramic teapot
the scrape of chair legs against tile:
foreshadowing
i sit down
and
my name fades
like phosphenes
behind
rising eyes
i hope
that the moon
tugs at my
feet
and i pray
until
the trees outside tremble
with heat
august braids my hair
with paper crane
hands
i anticipate the collapse
inward;
the lions
gaping jaws
but i am only met with
silence
and then
cicada avalanche
Althea Downing-Sherer is a high school junior from Iowa. She is an alumna of the Iowa Young Writer’s Studio, and reads for Polyphony Lit and The Dawn Review. She is forthcoming in The Origami Review ,and Coexist Lit. She has also been recognized by the Scholastic Writing Awards. When she’s not writing, she can be found creating elaborate Pinterest boards, listening to Taylor Swift, or preparing for Mock Trial competitions.