A fetal flock of bronze peered in my window.
The hollow pasture I am accustomed to was extracted yesterday--
in its place two brackets stoop down, its tombstone.
I think of my father as the water towers on top of buildings.
He feels generations, plural, away from the translations I hear on the street.
A game of telephone transcribed with an et cetera in the margin.
I will learn to love the ambivalence now,
and the way it can pull a stone taut in two directions.
Mia Grady Reiland is a teen writer from Brooklyn. She is a member of the Saint Ann's school Literary Magazine and has written for the school newspaper. Mia is a 2019 recipient of a national Silver Medal awarded by Scholastic in the memoir writing category. Her free time is dedicated to her Cocker Spaniel, named Frankie. Mia will be a senior in high school next year and is looking forward to the next chapter of her life.