The End of Childhood
by Anna ​Szczebak '16 

​I reached the place where the sidewalk ends.
I had walked measured and slow.
But looking back,
It seemed like a sprint,
And the now was too soon. 
 
So I stood at this place,
Where ash was the carpet,
Between the sidewalk and the street,
And I could not move toward either. 
 
Shiny, smooth, bright,
Sharp edges and mechanical parts,
Glowing faintly with a white light. 
 
Ivory draped stone walls,
Velvet clouds and towers tall,
Shining by sunset’s fingers. 
 
One was to come,
And one lay behind.
 
Like all things now,
Moving forward had a price.
So I reached inside myself.
 
My castles, my clouds, and my sunsets,
All appeared, flaming from my chest. 
 
I held them away from me on a stick,
For they stung my hand with what had been.
 
Then I watched,
As they flickered out,
Until there was nothing left to burn,
And all that remained was smoke and emptiness. 
 
I still could not retreat to the sidewalk,
But the road in front of me,
Lit up with streetlights.
 
They looked like fingerprints,
Pressing away the darkness.
In my head I thought,
I open at the close.
And I moved forward. 

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