walking on cigarette stubs,
my feet crush ash and 
last-of-sunset embers.
they are
littered on the ground
and husky wisps
waltz through the air,
secondhand smoke in every inhalation.
 
the stench of tobacco invades 
my nostrils,
takes temporary refuge
in cilia rooms.
and when the stink exits,
i can’t help but wonder:
what if i 
make the grab
how would a cig
weigh in my palm?
i could eye
a side-walk sleeper
for their lighter, and 
as the smoke reveres my fingertips, 
take a drag, 
let the unruly puff coat my tongue
in a creamy, chemical bitter.
 
yes, for a moment,
i could fall in love
with the delirium,
live in worship for a pavement butt,
strip my mind and limbs into
nakedness.
 
but then
the rebellion would end 
and I am not ready to stop
dreaming this dead dream.                                                                    i walk on by.

 

Reprint (Published in the Morning Fruit Mag on July 1st)

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Carina Solis is an African-American writer from Georgia. Her work has been recognized or is forthcoming in the Eunoia Review, the Ice Lolly Review, Rogue Agent, the National Scholastic Art & Writing Awards, and the New York Times Summer Reading Contest, among others. She is also an editor at Polyphony Lit, an intern at Young Eager Writers, and a mentee at Ellipsis Writing. She is fifteen years old.