Poetry by Kristine Ma

               half alive - soo zzzz CC



migration

how do sparrows know their way home each summer?
this droning heat, the hum of cicadas,
the crinkle of popsicle wrappers and this melting haze
i will call memory. the crimson sun,
melting into horizon outside the train window. melting, 
and remember; learn to miss the way those floorboards creak,
the way our fingers line up, the way socks keep your feet warm.
the rain in the band room, the smell of petrichor,
shoving off raincoat to welcome the rain on bare arms.
singing with their car windows up, telling me that i’m pretty,
pretty, but i do not see it, cup their hands
around the icy rain forming on lemonade glasses,
lingering scent of whispered campfires in dresses,
coconut perfume and rose-scented lotion.
knitting in summer, threading in voices, memories. this gaping hole
you left in the yarn. i unravel everything, 
return to where i began:
counting clouds in osaka, air conditioning 
against sun-kissed skin in beijing malls. 
how do sparrows know their way home each summer?
rewinding footsteps, trails, paths across the sky, 
tracing unspoken words, unravelling cadences in each flutter.
i say, fly me home; this heart retraces this familiar beat 
of wings, and they are here, yours. 
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Kristine Ma is a high school junior hailing from Michigan. She received three national gold medals, one national silver, and several other recognitions from the National Scholastic Art & Writing Awards. Her work is forthcoming from Bridge: The Bluffton University Literary Journal and the Eunoia Review. Kristine is an editor for her school's award-winning literary magazine, Spectrum, and is also on the creative writing team at the Incandescent Review. When she isn't writing, she can be found playing piano and oboe, watching anime, and dreaming.

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