A Poem by Maya Kompella
Again I have awoken in a field, calling my own name.
The cold sun with its teeth holds
each atom of which I am made in sharp claws,
plucks me apart until I become one
with the yellow grass in which I sit.
I stretch into a valley with no end—
I wait, undreamt, for life to take flight
out of the cracks in my skin.
I have not always been sleeping.
Maya Kompella is currently an undergraduate student and writer from Los Altos, CA, residing for the time in Chicago. Maya mainly writes poetry and short fiction. She serves on the poetry staff of Helicon, an undergraduate-run Literary & Arts Magazine, and has a poem published in Block Party Magazine.