By Castle Rossi
An Ohio girl grows up under sprinkles of sun
I scuff my toes in trailer park dirt
And cut my teeth on knee high grass
There’s a scar on my wrist
From the tall branches we grew to
Every time we tried to defy time
To escape the low school buildings
An Ohio girl grows with the trees
The river thrums with my heartbeat
As I race barefoot across the pavement
the screams of cicadas cheer me on
I have a bruise on my arm
And mud on my shirt
The summer heat burns my skin
An Ohio girl knows only worn-in cold
I press my hand to the glass
Sticky with frost and memories
Of Indian summers in raging yellows
The trees and the air on fire
The scrapes on my shins
The same color as the sky
An Ohio girl dreams in changing leaves
The valley is ruddy red like my cheeks
And my shoes are wet and cold
Skeleton trees reach up above me
Their gray death serves as a reminder
we pick through factory ruins
Metal the color of leaves on the ground
An Ohio girl is made of the wild and rust
Your hand is soft as we walk
The bridge rumbles beneath our weight
A song as soft as prayer
Tumbles from our tongues
The water below bubbles in beat
And your dog barks down the trail
An Ohio girl grows in love.
An Ohio native, Castle currently studies English and Business at Emory University. When she’s not writing poetry, you can find her writing short stories or running financial models.
