Eleanor Colligan
What’s a girl to do when she is sculpted from mud,
and not at all from another’s figure?
Instead the finest silt was used, mixed with ruby blood…
all the same, no set of eyes feel familiar.
Midwinter’s hollow winds lap at her foot,
whispering to forage and scatter in an instant,
pleading against the growing of rough, chapped roots
in bleak coarse dirt. In winter’s chill, nothing can remain consistent.
Yet does not movement bring the glorious rays of change?
If you bind yourself to searching, you too bind yourself to discovering.
Does fallen snow not wish to be trodden on, precious crystals of snow rearranged?
Listen to the earth’s breathy song, the soil’s nonsense and muttering.
_____As long as lungs crave air and bare feet crave dirt,
_____Go in search of an eternal summer, the world traversed.
Eleanor Colligan is a freshman studying Mechanical Engineering and English. She hails from the lovely Midwest of Canada. Eleanor is on the poetry staff in Helicon.
