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Pickpockets -- hybrid work by Sarah Graham

A mass of Satan’s peddlers gather in the tilting alleyways, their ragged clothes appearing those like the robes of little kings, their clever fingers grasping threads of thought, their melting minds sniggering of stolen wealth. Majestic cobbles roll out a crimson carpet on which their poorly padded feet may walk, the crowded streets chant rhythmic praises in their weary ears. Buttery dawn spreads its warm fingers over the poor orphans as they crouch in darkened doorways, and sunshine’s smiling light appears like blood anointing their doorways. When the moon’s hazy glow intrudes the towns, they rise like wolves for the feast, their coat tails streaking like comets, their eyes like deranged stars. In between curses and crude jokes veiled by drunken laughter, shrouded by the drug-infused air in smoky dens, they slip like foppish rats into the streets, bathed in silver light, skidding along icy stretches and swearing at the frigid hand clutching around their throats. Cragged towers peer down afraid at the filthy princes, the lordly peasants, as they scramble like drunken jesters across the marble courts baptized in mud. Through the windows of the aloof mansions they see toddlers eye to eye, under the ghost-like carriages they dart, wading in lecherous puddles, their small toes curling like smoke-blackened leaves. Under forbidden gates they crawl, with ease through barred windows. In swarms, they invade, blinking mindlessly in the reflection of iron street lamps, smirking at the crimson tables through dusty windows rimmed in silver- aged wines of nobles leave stains around their grey mouths. Emeralds and rubies awaken as worthless stones, velvet to find itself grey rags, gold to find itself straw. And after the pillage is done they return to the smoky rooms and darkened doorways, with drops of golden sun in their pockets, tatters of the heavens close to their hearts.


Sarah Graham is a junior in high school and an aspiring poet who dreams of publishing an entire collection of poems, enjoys translating poems from French to English and finds inspiration in the works of Symbolists and early Surrealists. An avid musician, she plays flute in a competitive youth symphony, plays oboe, piano and enjoys to listen to and sing opera. Sarah also enjoys gardening, star-gazing and longs to travel to Europe.

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