To 2015 - 2016
To Fall 2015
Eight Years in Siberia

By Anamica Menon

  1. Untitled
    By Allison Rothrock, 12
The sun rises, leaking light through the cracks.
He marks another line on the contemptuous wall
The centerpiece of the dreary box.
A golden shimmer illuminates his face.
It is morning in Siberia.
To accompany his tasteless meal
Are the pungent voices of growling men
Complaining, crying, criticizing
About what would be or will not be.
It is noon in Siberia.
Boredom suffocates the room,
A pretty young woman visits him
Speaking pretty words about God.
He nods apathetically.
It is afternoon in Siberia.
Contemplation has become a cancer.
What if he hadn’t done it?
Let things continue to pass,
He would be free.
It is evening in Siberia.
Blood stains the carpet,
Two wailing bodies intertwine,
They look up with soulless eyes and crooked smiles
He wakes up in a cold sweat.
It is midnight in Siberia.