By Andrew Zhao

Image from:

Within the lively, animal-filled, verdant forest,

a nature-eroded birch tree


the decomposing, browning carcass

of a familiar white-tailed deer.

Nearby, a young child plays,

around a crackling ember.

the bright pumpkin-orange

emanates a trail of invisible

carboned smoke,

all for the child to watch it rise.

Nearby, a mature child lies,

within the

forever-darkening shade,

with an aging collection of yellowing books,

awaiting his mother to call his name.

as he lies, he reminisces of his breakfast,

of the sweet,


ripe orange juice.

Nearby, the oscillating blaring horns,

of a flashing red and white truck,

hurriedly bound

toward the scene.

the red-capped robins and

the plumped finches

swiftly scurry away–

but, fly to the poles

in succinct harmony.

Nearby, the graying child lies.

Nearby, the big, burly men,

climb up the skewered,


branches of the

white birch tree.

Nearby, a force

has destroyed,

the calm,