By: Marielle Thyen

Tinted gold laces

Wrapped so tightly.

Mud stains and ripped seams.

Galloping like a stallion

On my field of dreams.

You’ve taken me many places.

With grit and glory.

From snow to sand,

In rain and heat.

Yet you still manage to hug my feet.

You’ve been stepped on

Like a forgotten insect.

Kicked as hard as a rock.

Despite the pain,

You are a fighter.

The aroma you produce

Like a cup of spoiled juice.

Soaked like a sponge, chock full of turf.

But those memories of determination,

Will take us to the ends of the earth.

By: Manmayi Ghaisas

I turn my cheek, but they are the same.

I turn my feet, still the same.

Made from perfect cookie cutters,

Sparkling with embellishments.

Trees, plants, and flowers, like estranged brothers and sisters.

Beautiful, but beautiful all the same.

The houses here are the same. Always the same, as far as the eye can see.

I cautiously stride inside, passing the dampened grass that stings my ankles with frigid dew.

I glide over the red roses,

like gentle fingertips in the night.

Always the same flowers, smelling of the same sugars.

My feet push on the hardwood floors. The same mahogany.

Then they hit me like a slap from the wind.

A million different thoughts, a million different conversations, a million different dreams.

In one house, a family fights, pushes, and shoves.

In another, they share a warm embrace of sweetness and honey.

My eyes widen and I realize

The houses are born from cookie cutters

The people inside are not.

Always different, as far as the eye can see.