©2020 by Canvas Literary Journal

Published by Cosmographia Books

Background art “Submerged” by Amelia Ao

Canvas logo by Ali Wrona

Spring

Sarah Lao

Winter 2019

 

Best of the Net 2019 Nomination

And Mama grew up young down in a town

where the children flung rusty nickels and

dimes at the open mouth of industrialization.

Where morning came, and girls pressed braided

dandelion stalks under the rocks

by the highway—swollen fingers burying together

infirmity. There, the kids always

had a liking to crack bruised knuckles and yank

broken wisdom teeth from their jaw.

Rip apart each three leaf clover into four, and

shuffle a deck of pockmarked poker

cards at recess. And it was in that spring, when Mama

turned fourteen that she learned

what it meant to be a woman as free as the sweat

that slicked in her thighs. How to

spit watermelon seeds for contraceptive, and how

to occupy the full distance between fear

and sinew. Twilight, and Mama stayed out in the creek

alone, peeling strips of skin into

clementine, pale body riding the dark.

As of the Winter 2019 publication of this piece, Sarah Lao was a sophomore at the Westminster Schools in

Atlanta, Georgia. She currently serves as an editor for Evolutions Magazine and reads for Polyphony HS.