Congratulations to first place winner Kimberly McGuire, second place winner Cierra Taber, and third place winner Jarod Werner in the 2018 UCONN ECE Wallace Stevens Poetry contest! These students will be honored at a ceremony on March 28th in the Konover Auditorium at UCONN. Kimberly will receive a $500.00 prize and will read one of her winning pieces during the poetry program featuring poet Joy Harjo. Cierra will receive a $300.00 prize and an autographed copy of Harjo’s book. Jarod will receive a $200.00 prize as well as an autographed copy of Harjo's book.
RHS Writers continue to shine!!
See below for a sample of the prize-winning poems:
Scripture for the Little ones
by Kim McGuire:
Inside the wood of the cherry branches laid the framework for children,
scribbled frantically beneath dead skin. The instructions pushed
a hundred words not to say through its bark and into the air where they promised
not to tempt, but to tease them into doing exactly what they shouldn’t.
In the late Autumn air he could touch his own lips and feel soil beneath his feet,
noticing blossoms of fruit grow wonderfully beneath the pink of his jacket,
where the hundred words tore through the material. It was his pained cry at night that he did not utter such indecencies, and instead ran through their pastures
only inside the safety of his head. He remembered
her pointing to the top when they were kids, after the fruit opened
their buds and spores filled the blades of grass.
“There,” she beckoned, her voice soft and hushed beneath the unforgiving hum of
wind that filled his rounded ears. “There,” she pointed again, this time to his name
at the top of the list, carved into the bark of the tree limb besides hers with a half
encircling their feet and the words that they should never really say.
by Jarod Werner:
I keep thinking that if I chip away the paint some more,
I will happen to uncover you.
If I burrow within one of these bales of hay,
you will be the needle.
I listen for your breath,
but all I can hear is the wind.
I think this is you,
so I must keep searching.
I keep chipping the paint,
I uncover the wood beneath.
I realize that this is not you.
Though it is battered and forgotten,
hollow and cold,
it is not you,
and I will never find you.