Contributor: Zachary de Stefan

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November is a month of ends,
of scarlets and vermilions that flame through woods,
of shadows like cool waters that fall upon
rows of stone faces sheathed in ivy tentacles.

The air tastes stale, as if released from the
yellowed pages of great-grandfather’s journal,
and the sun’s pallid light hardly makes the
search any easier.

At the sight of our name, we bend down to brush away the bramble:
Even rock can die.


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I am a rising high school senior who won a Silver Medal in Poetry at the 2013 Scholastic Art & Writing Awards.