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 Oct 2014 Madison Elaina
TrAceY
little sister do you remember all those nights
I sat on the edge        softly folding my love            
your small body warm but heavy
my attempts at safety as I spun
apologies into lullabies
and read stories of ethereal landscapes
with orphaned children lost

I almost had you believing
we would be so much more
than our childhoods suggested
and in kings who ruled true
and queens who stayed brave

little sister can you imagine I am sorry
for all the nights I walked by your door
without stopping,  my footsteps echoing
the sacrifice I did not make
leaving you wanting
stories where nobody         needs to be saved
 Oct 2014 Madison Elaina
Curtis
If I can choose
What next I be
I think I might
Just be a tree
There's a tiny park a short walk from here
where no one ever goes.
Though it's always abandoned,
I like to walk there when it snows
               'cuz it seems like
                     a relative.

Don't complain to me, my friend
if your face is feeling raw;
It gets cold here in Montana,
and December nights get long.
               and they have not
                   failed me yet.

So salt your frigid frown
and lay down bets on warmer times
in five more months, the thaw will come
and we just might quit rolling snake eyes.
Icy air is not your enemy
and neither are this small city
                                              or I.

The same park, it has a baseball field,
leaf-covered, looking old
the dugout's still in good repair,
but the basepaths overgrown
               remind me of,
           A New Year's alone

Remember one warm night when we thought
we were in the mood
to walk to the convenience store
for some box wine and some food?
               we played cards,
             locked in my room...

Now we're crying California tears
from laughing all night long.
And you don't really hate Montana,
you're just doing Winter wrong.

So lay your anger down
and hedge your bets 'til nicer days
don't stay inside, 'cuz you don't have to.
Graft my smile over your grimace,
this dull white-out's not the end for us
and neither is the bitter cold
                                                   outside.

— The End —