The Cornfield
By: Kassie Lamro
Published June 2021, Too Well Away Literary Journal
Natalie and I had the same birthday month,
which, in fifth grade, meant we were best friends.
The cornfield stood
between my street and hers,
an armrest at a movie theater, dividing and connecting.
We lay on our stomachs in my backyard,
grass tickling our bare legs as corn stalks rustled in the wind.
Come on, Natalie said, and when no one was looking,
we climbed the chain-linked fence.
For the next two years, we collected
rocks, screws, blue glass from the abandoned barn.
We labeled our treasures with the date and our names
and locked everything in a metal box.
Natalie and I didn’t have the same lunch period,
which, in seventh grade, might have meant we weren’t best friends.
Didn’t bother me that she sat with Amanda at lunch
because Natalie and I had
the cornfield.
One day on the school bus,
we pressed our fingers to the dust-smeared window
and gasped at the “Coming soon, Walmart!” sign
standing in the field like a scarecrow.
Natalie got off at my stop, ran across the backyard
and when no one was looking,
jumped the chain-linked fence.
She stomped to the middle
of the cornfield
to a humming powerline,
wrote our names on gum wrappers,
and stuck them to the base of the powerline
with chewing gum
as if labeling the field would stop bulldozers
from tearing our friendship apart.
Published June 2021, Too Well Away Literary Journal
Natalie and I had the same birthday month,
which, in fifth grade, meant we were best friends.
The cornfield stood
between my street and hers,
an armrest at a movie theater, dividing and connecting.
We lay on our stomachs in my backyard,
grass tickling our bare legs as corn stalks rustled in the wind.
Come on, Natalie said, and when no one was looking,
we climbed the chain-linked fence.
For the next two years, we collected
rocks, screws, blue glass from the abandoned barn.
We labeled our treasures with the date and our names
and locked everything in a metal box.
Natalie and I didn’t have the same lunch period,
which, in seventh grade, might have meant we weren’t best friends.
Didn’t bother me that she sat with Amanda at lunch
because Natalie and I had
the cornfield.
One day on the school bus,
we pressed our fingers to the dust-smeared window
and gasped at the “Coming soon, Walmart!” sign
standing in the field like a scarecrow.
Natalie got off at my stop, ran across the backyard
and when no one was looking,
jumped the chain-linked fence.
She stomped to the middle
of the cornfield
to a humming powerline,
wrote our names on gum wrappers,
and stuck them to the base of the powerline
with chewing gum
as if labeling the field would stop bulldozers
from tearing our friendship apart.
Mongkok Street, Hong Kong
By: Kassie Lamoreaux (Lamro)
Published November 2015, River and South Review
Published November 2015, River and South Review
Mongkok Street is congested
as a head cold you get when the seasons change,
the kind that makes it difficult to breathe or talk.
I am the only blonde,
and the only English speaker swimming in a sea
of limbs and honking horns.
It’s overly crowded.
Like that-guy-just-nearly-spit-on-my-shoe crowded, there’s no-
where-to-stand-so-keep-moving crowded, and let’s-build-shops-on-top-of-shops,buildings-on
top-of-buildings-because-there’s-no-where-else-to-build crowded.
I’m the only one standing on the street corner,
rereading the name Mongkok
on the sign above me,
confirming the one written on the smudged piece of paper shaking in my hands.
I don’t see a hotel.
My right hand clings to the handle of my red rolly,
Like pollution clings to the buildings.
People push past,
Rocking its body on its wheels.
Garbled words float in and out of my ears,
None of them directed to me.
My hair and shirt are sweat-wet.
I desperately want a shower, especially after the long van ride here.
The sun will probably disappear behind the sky
scrapers to be replaced with neon lights, soon.
I circle on my heels and gaze up for hotel names
until my eyes squint from too much sun.
I smell fish, grease and B.O.
I see people selling and buying panda-
bear key chains, brightly colored purses and hats, I-love-Hong-Kong-t-shirts,
red and gold jewelry and flip flops under gigantic Chinese lettered
billboards.
A man in a business suit, talking on his cell phone, nudges
his way through and waves for a taxi.
Two skinny men smoking cigarettes scan me up
and down. They laugh and push each other into the Circle K.
I don’t want to be on Mongkok Street when it’s dark. Mom
and other family are worried about me being in China as it is.
This isn’t my first adventure away from home, and I’m excited, but
it’s certainly the farthest
I’ve been. Maybe there is reason for some worry, especially
if I don’t find this hotel and have to
sleep on my suitcase next to the Mongkok Street sign.
I shift weight from one
foot to the other. I tighten my yellow
backpack with a quick yank.
My blue eyes search for another like them.
My ears strain for English.
I stare at the Mongkok sign,
inhale, and then start to wiggle my way
into the crowd to find answers at the Rolex shop.
as a head cold you get when the seasons change,
the kind that makes it difficult to breathe or talk.
I am the only blonde,
and the only English speaker swimming in a sea
of limbs and honking horns.
It’s overly crowded.
Like that-guy-just-nearly-spit-on-my-shoe crowded, there’s no-
where-to-stand-so-keep-moving crowded, and let’s-build-shops-on-top-of-shops,buildings-on
top-of-buildings-because-there’s-no-where-else-to-build crowded.
I’m the only one standing on the street corner,
rereading the name Mongkok
on the sign above me,
confirming the one written on the smudged piece of paper shaking in my hands.
I don’t see a hotel.
My right hand clings to the handle of my red rolly,
Like pollution clings to the buildings.
People push past,
Rocking its body on its wheels.
Garbled words float in and out of my ears,
None of them directed to me.
My hair and shirt are sweat-wet.
I desperately want a shower, especially after the long van ride here.
The sun will probably disappear behind the sky
scrapers to be replaced with neon lights, soon.
I circle on my heels and gaze up for hotel names
until my eyes squint from too much sun.
I smell fish, grease and B.O.
I see people selling and buying panda-
bear key chains, brightly colored purses and hats, I-love-Hong-Kong-t-shirts,
red and gold jewelry and flip flops under gigantic Chinese lettered
billboards.
A man in a business suit, talking on his cell phone, nudges
his way through and waves for a taxi.
Two skinny men smoking cigarettes scan me up
and down. They laugh and push each other into the Circle K.
I don’t want to be on Mongkok Street when it’s dark. Mom
and other family are worried about me being in China as it is.
This isn’t my first adventure away from home, and I’m excited, but
it’s certainly the farthest
I’ve been. Maybe there is reason for some worry, especially
if I don’t find this hotel and have to
sleep on my suitcase next to the Mongkok Street sign.
I shift weight from one
foot to the other. I tighten my yellow
backpack with a quick yank.
My blue eyes search for another like them.
My ears strain for English.
I stare at the Mongkok sign,
inhale, and then start to wiggle my way
into the crowd to find answers at the Rolex shop.
From Up Here
by: Kassie Lamoreaux (Lamro)
Published September 2021, Space2Create contest winner
(Read from outer space!)
Planet Earth Read from outer space
is a tangle of highways
and long lines for a happy meal
a mess of honking horns,
cigarette butts,
and racism
an ocean of dying fish,
and melting ice caps,
a place where people text and drive,
wildfires blaze
and economies crash.
Planet Earth is home
to fighting families, greasy French fries,
and greed
to starving children,
to crumbling mansions.
But from up here,
the blue planet is a dot
amidst a backdrop of twinkling lights.
There’s no hatred or crime
which gives me an idea.
If I pay it forward
the next time I’m waiting in line
turn an enemy into a friend
say a kind word,
recycle, forgive
maybe then, I can crumple hatred and greed
into a fat ball, toss it into outer space
where the sun’s gravitational pull
will drag it to the bright center
and burn it into nothing.
Published September 2021, Space2Create contest winner
(Read from outer space!)
Planet Earth Read from outer space
is a tangle of highways
and long lines for a happy meal
a mess of honking horns,
cigarette butts,
and racism
an ocean of dying fish,
and melting ice caps,
a place where people text and drive,
wildfires blaze
and economies crash.
Planet Earth is home
to fighting families, greasy French fries,
and greed
to starving children,
to crumbling mansions.
But from up here,
the blue planet is a dot
amidst a backdrop of twinkling lights.
There’s no hatred or crime
which gives me an idea.
If I pay it forward
the next time I’m waiting in line
turn an enemy into a friend
say a kind word,
recycle, forgive
maybe then, I can crumple hatred and greed
into a fat ball, toss it into outer space
where the sun’s gravitational pull
will drag it to the bright center
and burn it into nothing.