Bethesda Local Writer’s Showcase: 2024 Adult Poetry Contest

Adult Poetry Contest – 1st Place

Chinatown
By May-Mei Lee – Alexandria, Virginia

On 7^th street,
before the fire,
there was a restaurant,
the one with the roast pork in the window
next to the Walgreens that used to be a CVS that used to be a Peoples Drug that used to be
the knick-knack store that displayed the musical pencil case I coveted,
where the cooks knew my parents, 
so tossed in extra pineapple buns.

The Chinese sign tells me it will be Owl Restaurant.
Hooters – intentionally lost in translation.

Adult Poetry Contest – 2nd Place

The Mothers
By Taylor Franson Thiel – Springfield, Virginia

Of whom we know nothing.^[1]
Of whom we do not even know the birthplace.^[2]
Of whom we know almost nothing. 56 years, one town.^[3]
Of whom we know almost nothing. Outlived her husband.^[4]
Of whom we know very little. Outlived her daughter.^[5]
Of whom we know very little. Witnessed two centuries from one town.^[6]
Of whom we know even less. Daughter of Peder. Strong Dane Kvinde.^[7]
All we know of her: shaved headed mohawk woman. Lost her baby on the boat to America.^[8]
A midwife against the dangers of long dresses. Tripping hazard. Harder to run.^[9]
A way her obituary betrayed her: a name like Birdie, yet they called her Mrs. John.^[10]
Hair like her beehive state. Honey-stunning. The first time I’ve ever loved my nose.^[11]
Called abuser, called angel. Called, most importantly quiltmaker. Steady hands regardless.^[12]
A teacher, seeking pianohands in every crowd. Refused to hit her children. Cyclestopper.^[13]
She wants only for you to know she loves me.^[14]

^[1] Inger (1610-1664)
^[2] Maren (1634-1700)
^[3] Ane (1674-1720)
^[4] Anna (1710-1788)
^[5] Marie (1740-1831)
^[6] Johanne (1770-1830)
^[7] Marie (1793-1866)
^[8] Karen Johanne (1831-1853)
^[9] Ane Cecilie (1858-1955)
^[10] Carrie Birdie (1884-1958)
^[11] Laura (1908-1992)
^[12] Emma VerNae (1931-2021)
^[13] Susan (1952-)
^[14] Jenny (1975-)

Adult Poetry Contest – 3rd Place

Spring Comes to the Iowa River
By Gary Stein – Silver Spring, Maryland

In early March
ice moans
as a boy skids and skates
testing the surface.

An old man stands
in ruffled grass
on the last edge
of winter wondering

if the mud sucking
his shoes means ice
may soon surrender
its secret to sunlight.

How many hours, how
much heat can it bear
before cracking starts,
before white sheets shoot

the air? Should he yell
the boy in? Must he belly
crawl out with a long stick
to pull the young fool,

numb as a fish,
from the cold, wet maw
of the world? Or trust
and just go home to warmth

and let the lone boy
melt into the thin ice
of memory, laughing
at the wind’s punch

while the river moans
like a humpback whale
or a mourning mother,
washing over them both.

Adult Poetry Contest – Honorable Mention

Grief in Diptych: A Golden Shovel after Emily Dickinson
By Emma Berver – Arlington, Virginia

This golden shovel uses the line “I measure every grief I meet” from the poem with the same name by Emily Dickinson. Each line ends with a word in this phrase.

my chest, flung open like a locket, thrums and I
feel you — still beating like hummingbird wings. each measure
I take to quiet you breathes weightlessly, a hollow bone. every
pang comes to me as a diptych, a two-fold grief:
the birds, perching hungrily on empty feeders, while I
deal double solitaire out of habit, the card’s edges refusing to meet.

Adult Poetry Contest – Honorable Mention

Sproutling
By Susie Chen – Potomac, Maryland

Wee little seed.
Tiny
miracle.
Tucked in a blanket of water.
A head has formed,
reaching for the sky.
Only wanting to thrive.
Give it
Nourishment,
Warmth,
Love,
and Hope
it grows up
Healthy,
Strong,
Resilient,
Happy.
Watching, caring, waiting, nurturing
for its simple
Blossom.

Adult Poetry Contest – Honorable Mention

I come from  .  .  .
By Kyi May Kaung – Chevy Chase, Maryland

I come from – dried chilies and dust

I come from stupas gilded with real gold.

I come from – people shot on the street.

I come from – child soldiers.

I come from – rape as a weapon of war.

I come from – nothing but fish paste and broken rice to eat.

I come from crows and sparrows shot and netted for food.

I come from dengue hemorrhagic fever

I come from all my friends and relatives — dead.

 All my students – disappeared.

 My professors – lost.

 I come from – everything – state-owned.

I come from – soldiers — everywhere.

 I come from —  no more —  universities.

 I come from elephantiasis

Money not worth the paper — it’s printed on.

 I come from her six foot son come home in a five foot coffin.

 I come from – hello goodbye

 Arnahdé — or feeling bad to say – No.

 But in life it is necessary to say — No – often.

Adult Poetry Contest – Honorable Mention

Dora the Explorer is the visionary and role model we all need and I’m dying on that hill or at least going over it to get to the river and treasure chest.
By Maggie Rosen – Silver Spring, Maryland

She is always ready to go somewhere and do something. She doesn’t care
If her companion is a monkey with only boots on. She is fine talking to
a know-it-all mansplaining map.
She will codeswitch when needed. She looks ahead but not

Consistently. Sometimes she just looks you in the eye and remembers
that the connection is what is most important–
Do you see a mountain?–
even if it means
she will lose her way.

She was born thinking ahead (she has a catchphrase for anticipated theft)
and she is ready to mediate
a way out of any awkward situations.
Witch stole the prince? Bunch of rowdy pirate pigs? Give her fifteen minutes.

My favorite part:
She thinks in threes, gaming the process so that once you have two things done
you are more than half way through. Really it’s genius. I want all things
to come at me in threes now.

Sticks the landing, then celebrates. Always.

For more information on the Local Writer’s Showcase, please visit https://www.bethesda.org/bethesda/localwriters