Carly Breault – Unrefined, I Smell Smoke

Unrefined

I find myself disbarred
From the society of refined people
Of people unafraid
Of sugar in their morning coffee, salt to liven their spouse’s recipe
The mingling taste of champagne and expensive lipstick
Chocolate sucked from their lover’s fingers
Eating in the company of other

Refined people

I Smell Smoke

Seven:

Schoolyard Witness: a genocide of trees.

Decapitated, blood of bark

Stains polyester playground, the eerie cries

Of glee, that laughter we exchanged

In the Forest come and go as ghosts

Buried into artificial turf

We cannot climb the monkey bars

Without reminiscence of freedom

Of climbing the trunks of our Supervisors

The old pine-scented wind at our backs

In the all-consuming fire, there is life lost

In a stack of shaved logs

Burning what kept us together

What kept adventure alive.

Now we are walking tombs

Marking a childhood without trees to climb

A forest to take refuge in.

To explore and find where we came from.

Where we belong

Bio: Carly Breault is an 18-year-old university student majoring in psychology. She is a feature writer for the university newspaper, and her poems have been published by the Poet’s Institute of Canada, the Claremont Review, Re:Verse, and the Brick Rhetoric.

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