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Delicate and soft, the most beautiful poppy flower stands before me. Gently swaying in the breeze, her tender face gleaming up toward the sun. 

My grandmother, Savta to me, was born a week after Kristallnacht, the “Night of Broken Glass,” named so due to the amount of glass from broken windows that littered the street following an antisemitic attack in 1938.

On September 2 of 2022, I packed three short sleeve shirts, two long sleeve shirts, and four pairs of pants into a backpack and left my house in Sharon, VT, for four months on an intensive expedition semester school: Kroka Expeditions’ L

his nose, a lump, 

illuminated in the moonlight. 

a face carved from rock, 

rests next to mine.  

we lay in the wet grass,

My heart is too young for your love

I am a child again 

Under the table 

Back when everything was so big 

But I wasn’t meant to deal with it 

we have been cradled to the grave, 

living beneath plastic trees,

living with gold-plated worms, 

chanting their friendship in your desperate ears,