1 poem
by Sarah street
The Westminster Schools
Refugiado
Alipio weaves baskets out of candlesticks,
braids flame and ash in broken reverie.
Alipio washes his mother’s feet, cracked feet
bruised by cracked borders that never led to
el hogar. Alipio sings in discord with his
ancestors, a half note too high, always too
high, too coiled into paper cranes and
blunts. Alipio carries a name dislocated from
himself in his native refuge, a name which means
devoid of sadness - sweet mockery of his own.
Alipio cuts lemons with butter knives, too dull to
rip stitches, too sharp when red mingles with yellow.
sarah street
Sarah Street is a rising senior and Writing Fellow at the Westminster Schools in Atlanta, where she is also Co-Editor-in-Chief of the school newspaper and editor for the literary magazine. Her writing frequently explores themes of social justice; she is passionate about promoting diversity and inspiring unity through writing, music, and community service.