Two Poems – Hugh Stoll

“a man shaving.”

last night i dreamt

of a man,

two scars on his chest,

flicking across his face

a razor, raising follicles,

beard, brown, fluttering down

like weeping angels’ wings

falling from heaven to

imperfect earth.

he mightve been me.

why isnt he me?


“dysforest”

when lungs collapse and collarbones snap

and debris is all that’s left of me

when swords sheath themselves

in my gut and my brain

becomes an entree for decay

i want my broken bones to be

the forest floor

for a new kind of spring, one

good enough.

roots will draw water

from my tear ducts, now run dry

with disuse and distrust

because crying is weakness, it’s

lopsided tear streaks, like off-color

mushrooms

poking their ways

through old bone and fat that once

had a name.

for them,

im enough.

as the first flowers crawl their way

up my throat, blooming from despondency

nature will laugh at these estranged children

borne of a body that was never good,

never enough,

until now.


Hugh Stoll is a senior at Appomattox Regional Governor’s School who enjoys a nice cup of tea with their existential dread in the mornings.