How Long
Maeve
There is no voice.
Each river is too old to remember a stream.
Swelling of the familiar is lost in mist.
Whatever soul is still clinging to the bones
can almost hear.
The wispy fingers used to play
with ghostlings who conspired in
fleeting trees,
clasping fireflies in joined hands
and sipping milky gold
from pear blossoms.
Fallen from incredible places,
shouted in loud, silky threads
fresh from the spinner.
The universe was endless.
Now memories
are last drops clinging to glass.
Rain seems as long ago
as first stars.
And there is wondering, but no answer:
How long until we get to go home?
Maeve
Maeve is a high schooler who enjoys exploring wild places, both real and fictional. In addition to writing and drawing, she likes reading other people's work, picking strawberries, and going on walks in the woods. Kelly Barnhill and Christopher Healy are among her favorite authors.