First Place:

Signal Lost

By Maddie Logemann

They come from beyond the corn. On dry nights, they slink from country homes and rustle the stalks, twitching their antennae for a signal.

We’re safe beneath the canopy. Hickory and oak shield us from open skies, but the colors are changing.

Bare branches aren’t enough.

Their static cries breach the forest, unheard since spring.

“Don’t look! Shut your eyes!” someone shouts, desperate.

But I’ve never seen them close before. Morbid curiosity’s a bitch.

Last I see is their CRT monitor, cocked crooked atop an otherwise human body. Antennae roving, dead channels flipping, searching for connection.

Then, it’s all static.

Second Place:

Paper Leaves

By Sarah Hirons 

When the last love letter has been written

I will plant a forest of heart-carved trees

nestled in wrappings of yellowed paper

peeling words of love into the breeze

your eyes have set

my world

on fire

At the centre

a thicket of urgent green

busy with flurry of napkin leaves

smudged with scarlet lipstick sheen

I need

to feel your skin

on mine

All the while, in the quietest places

words will float, light as ash

settling in drifts

on a carpet of longing

your name is the

softest word

I have ever spoken

Third Place:

My Girls

By Séimí Mac Aindreasa

Sitting in this quiet glade, I think of all my girls.

By the old oak lies Jenny, covered by moss, golden flowers at her head.

Mary is nearby, in the shade of the poplar, a gentle breeze cooling the air above her resting place.

Jo loved the sun, so she lies right in the centre, where she is warmed by its glow all day long.

Kathy was stubborn, so is buried in rocky ground, near the stream.

This new girl, who’s name I don’t yet know,

Will probably join her in the stony place, if she doesn’t stop crying soon.

Fourth Place:

Our Last Night in Fauquier Wood

By Robert Burns

That last night, I sat by the campfire drinking inky-black coffee, watching a buttery moon rise above the silhouette of crooked pines. I couldn’t sleep.

Chloe did sleep, though, for which I’ll be forever grateful. The dying embers of the fire flickered crimson reflections onto her cheeks—her labored breaths finally settling into a peaceful rhythm.

The night insects, raucous at first, had consolidated themselves into a reverent chorus. They helped me stand watch, as if they knew our secret.

Chloe stirred, stretching awake and noticed me. Her wince blossomed into an eternal smile as she reached out her arms.