POETRY WEEK 2024
Runner-up
BY JACOB QUINT
Copyright is held by the author.
The Flight
my grandma
was thrown
over the Rhine,
launched into flight
as hyenas in uniform
scoured fields
and sniffed down corridors,
grizzled monsters
on the prowl
with fangs dripping
for the infant
flying over the river,
carrying the torch
of her blood,
swirling with generations
lying in wait,
pulsing in her veins.
GAZA
a girl
hidden in rubble
sees hellfire
raining down
from charcoal sky.
she screams for help
on a shore of ashes
where waves of flames
incinerate
her blackened toys,
doll houses smoldering
as her parents,
trapped deep beneath
smoking ruins
breathe their
final breaths.
Needlepoint
the kitten’s paw
fell on
the gleaming thorn.
she squeaked
and hopped
in burning fire.
now
her eyes
are pried open
when she walks.
now
she treads lightly
where she used to frolic.
alarm bells
eternally ring
in her mind,
flashing red.
If We Knew
If
we knew
how completely
we
are set to fall apart,
utterly
disintegrate,
words could not
express our emotions.
we would tear
out the roots of
the Earth,
thrash the trees
in love and fury,
our screams of passion
would be heard
from outer space,
the ground would
shake and tremble
with the power
of our hearts.
if we knew
just how fragile
this beating heart is,
how much weight
lies in these seconds
which trickle forward,
if we saw
the motions of our atoms
colliding
in their eternal dance,
restlessly seeking
to stay intact
before splitting apart.
we should be screaming
if we saw
how much beauty
exists in the
tiniest particle.
if only we chose
not to see.
Light Switch
I open my eyes
to see surgeons
sticking utensils
into the chasm
of my chest,
mechanics wrenching
deep into my core,
diving below my skin,
scarlet muscles
and bones,
plunging down
canyon walls,
sedimentary layers
of flesh
to reach the heart,
gleaming,
throbbing its greeting.
their gloved fingers
jiggle with my light switch,
flickering white and black.
Little Red Cap
she stands
behind the counter
in her little red cap
bracing herself
as he boils,
red and burning,
his voice rising
to a roar,
shooting arrows
across the divide.
she grimaces
trying to shake them loose,
trying to smile
as her mouth
droops.
***
Jacob Quint is a poet from Miami and now resides in Los Angeles. Beginning as a rock songwriter and music blogger, his writing is influenced not only by literature but also by music. In the past year, his poetry has been featured in publications such as Cholla Needles and V Press LC.
