How Lip Balm was Invented
Shards of plastic splinter
in a broken pile underneath
my nightstand. When,
I ask, did plastic
cleave so fragile? These
shards reel like dust in the
corners of my room.
I march along burning asphalt, bare footed
and a pompous church hat
atop my head. My feet dyed
with black ink and
decomposing things.
Tomorrow, my fingers blush glinting piano keys with sweat.
Tomorrow, I wash my body of scabs and grit until my skin and memory are buffed smooth.
Tomorrow, I tongue sweet ointment that smells of old lavender.
I loosen the knot of hair that weighs
my head back. This is the moment
of silence before the dogs begin
to wail and this house
begins to shake. I will ask
my diary if my skin
is enough. She hands me
a pot of lip balm and
tells me to heal.
*
Lauren Zhu is a rising senior at Shaker High School. She has been recognized by the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards and National Council of Teachers of English; her poetry is forthcoming in Eunoia Review. She reads for Polyphony Lit as an Executive Editor.
