61 Ode to Hyperfixations Christen Kessler Praise to my new favorite thing To late nights and early mornings To ignoring responsibilities and prcrastination To obsession and infatuation To fandoms and blogs To taking over every part of my life To losing interest To finding something else Praise to my next new favorite thing Grapes Autumn McDonnel It’s the kind of sweet juice that only nature can make— from a seed into a blossom, into a vine. The children eat them, and they stuff their mouths full of nature’s candy— from sour greens to savory reds to pruned purples— though only old people like those. But all of nature’s goodies turn to mush so quickly, and the sour greens and savory reds grow covered in fuzzy, gray mold after several days of neglect. Oh, we are so greedy and take, but nature is so bountiful and gives, nonetheless. I can feel a crunch between my two second-molars, the sweet juice on my tastebuds: the chomping of nature’s green and red pearls. They taste of an unfermented red or white wine— But what do I know? I’m a few months shy of twenty-one. Nature’s gifts are so talented that they can be bagged, boxed, or bottled, but they only last until the moment they have grown old and are soon to be gone.
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