Jaded (Poetry)
I see you for the first time in eight years
across the subway platform.

Taller, thinner,
barely recognizable
but the jade monkey dangling from
your neck is the same one
your mother gave you
years ago and
even from here
I can make out the crack
I left behind.

My hand twitches against my thigh
and I fight against your name
crawling up my throat.
Do you remember the days spent
holed up in your room
building towers, white fences and
families with legos or
nights stargazing on the roof,
you would teeter on the edge
your mother too tired
to pay attention
toes gripping slippery bricks
reaching for the moon
I’m gonna be an astronaut
my hand wrapped tightly around yours
tugging you back down.

Then the accident.
Broke your legs and your mother’s heart
and you couldn’t reach the top
of the tower we’d built together anymore
So You tore down
what took us years to make.
Blamed me me me
and I screamed
when I couldn’t contain the
anger, the guilt, snatching that
necklace through fat tears
and a string of
you you yous I flung it
towards the window.
Crack.

By the time I open my eyes
you’re gone.

Yaxin Liu, Age 17 Grade 12, Hunter College High School, Silver Key