Red Cups
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Natasha Ho, Grade 11
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Poetry
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2018
Loud music plays a hundred metres away, inside a morgue full of ringing mobile phones.
The birch tree outside is covered in sheets of white, the whole street is visited with respect,
awakening in the middle of a cloudy afternoon, painting faces in the middle of the hall.
A phone buzzes every second during the middle of reading their life.
She sits in the centre of a hundred cushions, buried in a pile of soft throws,
attempting to warm herself from a full frozen blue bucket, her cup stands empty.
All the red cups are empty, poisoned by a blank apple, drunken to fix their wounds.
He hugged her saying “you’re important to me.” Sheets of white are drowned,
she remembers “You are strong, never give up.” Birch stumps are drowned.
Letters arrive each day after the cemetery, the hugs are cold,
and no one is here, the mail arrives each day, letters stamped with a heart,
the only memory left to melt the ice that washes her face.
All the red cups are empty except one, one is full of pain, emptied down the drain…
Her cup is full every day, untouched as no one dares.