KATIE HURWITZ - POEMS

Katie Hurwitz is currently a high school senior in New England. She plans to go to a liberal arts college to study elementary education, creative writing, and cello performance. She is currently the president of her high school's Creative Writing Club and Online Managing Editor and Arts & Entertainment Editor for her school's newspaper, The Rebellion.

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​Box in a Cyclone

​I want to lay supine against the grass
The blades tickling my face
And reach my arm up to the sky
 
My arm like a tree
Would grow
Stretch upwards
Without a child’s growing pains
 
My arm would be a pole of flesh
Reaching up
 
I could pet the clouds
Hold an eagle on my wrist
Brush against the leaves of the tallest canopies
 
Snap my fingers miles apart
In the air above me
While staying put soundly
On the tickling green blades of grass
 
I do not want to take my other senses along
I am blind on my journey
Only through touch can I explore
 
I knock on the door to the ozone layer
Waiting for God to hear
For Him to let my arm in
Through the thin, ethereal layer
 
My arm goes from the sweet light blue skies
To the dark, reflective night
 
I’ll touch the stars
Feel their scintillating shock
I’ll play catch with holdable planets
I’ll graze through the sun
 
Collecting trinkets from worlds unknown
And give them to you
 
I want to be you
Just for a moment
To see how I look
To you
When I give you the world
 
I want to be a master of time
Given the power to
With the blink of an eye
Stop time for just one moment
 
Everyone, everything
Stuck in time
Molded like ice
 
So I being your spirit
And you being my command
Could at last
Be one
 
I want this time of sheer power
To never end
Everything still
Everything just
 
I want to lay forever
On the green lever to start time back
You and I
Can live in the now forever
 
I don’t want
To travel to the past
Taste the wines of nineteenth century France
Fight the Visigoth with brave warriors
 
I don’t want
To be in the future
See technology brighter than the stars
Shake hands with the final president
 
I want you and me
To be one
In a fictional land of one tactile sense
With our other senses in reality
 

​Conscious Scab

​Conscious
Scab on the knee
 
Dear, the unconscious is
The oozing
Liquid
The volcano
Red hot lava
 
Stories deep as
The burning pit
Black dust
Of rocks that were once
 
Truths untold
Secrets hidden
Love buried by the scab
 
Dear, if you shall set the scab free
Pick the red
Crust
 
Blood
Stories
Cherry red with stories
Bubbling free
 
The exposed liquid
Infected
Unlike hidden life
Crimson
Under warmth of consciousness 

​Empty Basket

​Lull me down the stem
Weave me
Into a basket
Nothing inside
 
Speak to me
In cursive
 
Melt your sentences
Into one word
 
Your words into pitches
Simple oblivion
 
Fold the paper of
Your song
Into your skin
Watch
Lullabies into soil