Yellow Sweater

United States

Zinnia | she/her | bi | agnostic | 18 | WA

2021-2022 Seattle Youth Poet Laureate

Elitist Atlantic Subscriber (jk, but I do think the Atlantic does some awsome journalism)

I don't necessarily agree with my own assertions

Message to Readers

republishing old work because I am bored and hate all my new pieces.

The Same Blue

August 22, 2021

PROMPT: The Footnote

19
I think I’ve fallen in love with California just a little. The flowers are brighter here or maybe it’s easier to see the flowers in a desert (1). The mountains are made from corporeal folds you can squeeze between. They’re small enough to touch, to pet, to ride. 

I am sitting on the back porch of my uncle's gorgeous ranch-style mansion in the Santa Barbara hills, staring out, through the haze, at the ocean (2). On the ground are pink peppercorns dried out and wrinkling under the sun. I break one open. The resin gets stuck under my fingernails. It smells like poetry (3). 

I plan on spending the next day at the beach, getting sand between my toes, but part of me doesn’t want to leave the palisades I am perched upon (4). The Santa Barbara hills are reminiscent of the Andalusian mountains, whose peaks puncture the verses of the poet I’m obsessively reading, Federico Garcia Lorca (5).  

I eat berries for breakfast, blueberries on yogurt (6), shrugging off a wholesome homesickness in favor of a pan-west-coast syncretism (7). 

We all watch the same ocean, love the same blue (8). 
  1. I might have been mistaking wildfires for flowers.  
  2. We had just driven through ramshackle, dusty, suffocatingly hot communities populated by migrant farmers in the central valley.  
  3. Or perhaps it smelled like fantasy. 
  4. Does anything real/more-than-real/holy/worthy-of-poetry ever happen on a California beach? 
  5. Lorca constantly imagines death, imagines dying. He lives it. 
  6. I wasn’t supposed to flush the toilet unless its contents were brown. But how much water does it take to grow blueberries in Santa Barbara? 
  7. The U-pick blueberry farm we went to cost thirty dollars a pound. 
  8. I’m not so sure.

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  • August 22, 2021 - 7:03pm (Now Viewing)

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7 Comments
  • kaylasghost

    Oh oh oh I love this- " The resin gets stuck under my fingernails. It smells like poetry" ahajhdfjdksfdskj the way it's written and the style is incredible, i love this <3


    2 months ago
  • Sanjana Sunilkumar

    Mwah! Love this!


    2 months ago
  • BlakeNoelle

    WOW!!! This is so beautifully written!! I love the way that you met the prompt, but also made it your own!!! Your descriptions are lovely!! :)


    3 months ago
  • Anne Blackwood

    You really grabbed this prompt and said "Imma make it poetic and existential and awe-inspiring"


    3 months ago
  • Writing4Life

    Whoaaaaaaaaaaaaa! You took this prompt and SLAYED! Nice!!


    3 months ago
  • NS Kumar

    I misspelled sober there. Ouch =/


    3 months ago
  • NS Kumar

    I love how nostalgic, witty, and sobre this piece is. This is such a beautiful piece; your style of writing is so new and refreshing. Your footnotes really made my day!


    3 months ago