By Jolie Rolnick
Twelfth grade
The following is Jolie's award-winning poem from the Penumbra Summer Writing Contest.
I thought my words were dust.
I didn’t know how loudly you could hear me;
how loudly you needed to hear me.
Louder than avery and jack and jane and casey and katie
who refused to sit with you at lunch because
they were not your friends.
I didn’t know how to say I’m sorry.
You would be here, always.
Five feet away, forever
within your baby pink walls and rows of American Girl dolls until
you weren’t.
Your heart would bleed red forgiveness, floods and floods until
you built a barricade.
I didn’t know how to say I’m sorry.
Nobody lives within your baby pink walls,
and mom painted them white anyways.
And I renamed every single one
of your American Girl dolls.
And you’re gone.
And I’m sorry.