By Shay Putnam
Somehow I’ve wandered free
from my wild lands.
Towns where houses lean like drunkards,
and broken wheels line the road,
that homeless trudge
lost as prayers—
here it’s easy fighting for violence,
and hard fighting for peace.
A ragged place, with iron crosses
nailed over rough wood doors.
Where they teach heaven is,
taking your boots off daily,
crouching wide, squaring shoulders,
curling your toes into the rust dirt roads,
stealing again for a hot sweaty wrestle
with this thing they call grace.
But today I find myself far
from humanity,
and stand on this jagged ridge,
the white ash sand stretching
as far as the eye can see,
like the ocean forgot to fill itself
and the burning blue sky
forgot to dress itself with clouds.
I climbed a hillside to find the world unmade,
God’s curtain lifted,
his sketchbook
baking in the morning sun.
Shayauna Putnam is a sophomore studying business and creative writing at Brigham Young University. More of an obsession than a hobby, her writing plays primarily with themes of neurodivergence and remorse, with a central focus on creative nonfiction. She fell in love with horticulture during quarantine and now spends her free time (when she’s not writing or talking about writing) watering way too many houseplants and playing with her rascal of a dog Goose.
