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
I Smell Smoke
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.