By: Katie Sieracki
The page cut my finger
before I could turn it.
I sat and watched myself bleed,
staining my already-muddied manuscript.
“Perhaps the flow will never stop,” I think,
as the pages glom together.
The blood dries fast and sticky,
making for a most grisly glue.
I try my hand at turning the page,
but the adhesive of my own making
leaves the leaf as ornery
and obstinate as a child.
The parchment’s morbid protest means
my page spread will hold steadfast,
stuck on the same stubborn sheets
scrawled with those pathetic paragraphs
A fittingly macabre backdrop
for such a sullen chapter it could be,
but maybe, if I rally my resolve,
I can work the pages free.
I will wage war against my own despondency.
I will conquer the apathy within.
I will turn the page
so a new chapter can begin.
Katie Sieracki lives in Los Angeles where she works as a preschool teacher’s assistant. She is currently pursuing her master’s degree in social work, and enjoys photography and writing poetry in her free time.