WRITTEN BY CLORIS SHI
I once collected candy wrappers from the playground.
I wiped each clean from soiled tongues, traced faded names like
watermelon, lemon, blue raspberry, gave them new names
like Lisa-why-can’t-you-sit-still pineapple wrapper
like boy-bribed-Lisa green apple wrapper
like nursing-home-front-counter-before-we-let-you-know-grandma-died strawberry wrapper,
I placed them in my desk.
One afternoon, my teacher reported there was an ant problem.
Perhaps that is why I now sugarcoat the truth,
scared you take candy, leave packaging; take treasure, leave chest,
Perhaps that is why, even now,
when you taste me, you taste only plastic
why when you throw me away, I fold to paper cranes.
Cloris Shi is an incoming high school freshman living in southern California. Her work has been recognized by The New York Times and Scholastic Art and Writing Awards. She is passionate about writing and biology. In her free time, Cloris loves to read, cook, and call old friends.