By Abby Hoyt

i’m on the pavement again
and this must be the dawn of a new age

i’m throwing stones,
one two three four five six seven

i’ve one foot on the square,
are they cheering me on
while i go?

why can’t i remember it?
other than the broken bones,
was my early life much of nothing?

it is the dusted edges of the chalk lines
and their peering eyes
for i am the wounded dog
that lost the fight.

do i say much of anything?
or do we start in silence,
our hands grasping at what we are denied?

i see the end
eight nine ten

i want to be seen
and i yearn for something that’s not quite love,
not quite a sorrow in being lonesome.

it’s okay, i’ll keep going
and you can watch this animal
bare her teeth, limp along like something wild.

–

Abby Hoyt is a 17-year-old creative from Massachusetts. She’s been published in local and nationwide literary magazines, most recently in the America Library of Poetry anthology with her poem “while on the plane flight home.” Besides writing, Abby enjoys playing the guitar, brewing tea, and reading friends’ horoscopes.