By Isabella Stewart
after El Mundo, Paco Pomet
listen, little one: you are not a sheep. you do not have
hooves to pound into the dirt floor of this field you call home,
and cannot bleat against the thunder of cotton candy
clouds from above. so, if not a sheep, what are you?
look up, for an answer. bathe the whites of your eyes
in the clouds’ holy tears, and do not stare too long, or
else those tears will collect inside your head and split
your shoulders’ wiry spindles straight through.
when the clouds go away, the sun whispers against
winter. the sunlight scintillates through you slow as a
crawl. is it trying to fill your lungs with fire, and turn
your body into a furnace? will it burn you
from the inside out? yes, it is true: sheep burn.
but you won’t. look inside yourself: what do you see?
feel your toes digging into the earth, the sun’s heat
smothering your cracked, austere human knees.
you are no sheep, little one. you walk this field
human, with a shepherd’s crook in your hand.
– Isabella Stewart is currently a Running Start senior at Highline College. She loves stories of all kinds, writing, coffee, overcast weather, and fantastical video games.