By Skye Kuppig
L’Appel Du Vide
placed on the edge of the table,
a semi-circle ring jutting over the precipice.
Coffee sitting stagnant in its belly,
with each sip.
Leaving a stained rim on the virgin white
where it has receded.
It sits there, inches away from my hand.
Nails bitten down,
wrinkles beginning to show.
from the corner of my eye.
in the places I know it
if it fell.
When it fell.
My hand heavy on the table,
turned lead with the power
the what if.
The I could.
I see the liquid
spreading across the tiles,
seeping out from between sharp edges
of ceramic shards.
down tracks of grout.
Until a faceless person
lays down a rag and sops the mess up.
Sweeps the stained-ivory pieces aside,
throws the whole deal in a trash can
to be driven away
the next morning.
But my hand has not moved yet,
the mug sits,
with a semi-circle of rim jutting over the precipice,
and my hand tensed,
Letter to a Stray Cat
The night we met,
the ice made lace on the frozen ground.
The snow blushed a frostbitten blue,
and moonbeams fought the winter-starved shadows
that surrounded us in wait.
I remember your eyes,
how they watched me as I approached.
The way they flashed citrus in the black.
I thought you would run
when I shattered crystal with my steps,
but you only stared.
And when I came close enough
to finally touch you,
to know that you were not the silhouette of a dream,
you were gone,
dissolved like ink into the night.
Sitting in the back of the room,
The new kid.
He has his head hung low,
As if ashamed of his existence.
He should be.
Doesn’t he realize he’s different?
Doesn’t he realize that no one wants him here?
Doesn’t he understand the looks the other kids give him?
Doesn’t he know why he’s never called on?
I hate him.
I hate his hunched back.
I hate his sorrowful eyes.
I hate his deep brown skin.
Because my friends do.
Because my parents do.
And what I hate most of all
Is that I don’t even know his name.
Skye Kuppig is a junior at Sturgis Charter Highschool on Cape Cod. She’s loved writing since she can remember, and writes poetry and short stories. Her sophomore year in high school she started the school’s literary magazine and since then has been working to build a vibrant writing community at her school. Apart from writing, she likes to sail, paint, play the alto saxophone, and travel. This past year she’s been to Spain, France, and Italy, and hopes to attend university abroad.