Young Poets

Mr. Sly

Rattle / August 4, 2018

I’m Mr. Sly, I go to the sky. You will find me at school Inside the pool. I eat slaw […]

Rattle / July 28, 2018

I should’ve gone out for iced-cream, Before the doctors pronounced me dead, Nothing crazy, just vanilla— Then a bullet in

Rattle / July 21, 2018

Behind my smile I fear I may be reveling In exaggerated truth. In my eyes I paint the windows over

Rattle / July 14, 2018

In skis, My feet are like The metal tines Of a two-pronged Fork Gliding through The flour-snow Of an Earth-baked

Rattle / July 7, 2018

Don’t date any boys in high school, Mother said. Or you’ll spend all day daydreaming and forget to study. When

Rattle / June 30, 2018

I remember the bagpipes. There aren’t many things my memory holds on to, but when it comes to my grandfather’s