Contributor: Jonah Carlson

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East of Hanoi, tombs of the nameless sprout.
They are weeds in a low field, stable
relics, signs of blades and lines paved
through fields trot still by strengthened soles.
They are dull memories, ones which fade like
the green colors of spring due at summer’s day.
I am only a June breeze who,
like the blessings of harvest, will be reaped—
yet I often wish not to have blown.
Suicide is not to be glorified
yet there are times I plead for the rest
born during the rainy season,
the mists of days run cold.
Why is it so hard to breathe if I am the wind?
They stand wielding astral wires,
chaining me to being. They are
untouched by the common scythes of life,
known, yet dismissed in a single breath.
They are my finale, a boneless movement
which sleeps in the haze of year’s end, calling.
They beg me not to fear, instead
to open my mouth and take life by the reins
screaming—
“One day—someday—there will be rest.”


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Jonah Carlson is a seventeen-year-old student attending Davis High School in Kaysville, Utah. He will be a captain of the school's swim team during the 2019-2020 season and is planning on graduating in 2020. He hopes to pursue fields such as art, history, and creative writing during his college years.