The 2024 Lamont Younger Poets:
The Four Winning Poems by Erin Han ‘26, Allegra Lai ‘26, Chloé Lind ‘27, and Catherine Manley ‘27
How To Love: lessons from sepia and ocean waves
Erin Han ‘26
1 - home (ver. 1)
salty air carries into the dim-lit room,
linoleum-floored, and shadow-streaked, as i hear the intermittent swish of deep blue waves,
the sound and breeze carrying from the little window half the size of my head and
between the folds of grandma’s dusty albums and
bookmarked between her leather bibles
i find the photographs, as they
blink at me, breathing with breaths deeper than mine.
i turn the pages and another home unfolds:
my grandmother & grandfather’s love story
backdropped by the frenzy of new york city in the ‘60s
to me, like grandpa said, it’s just a snapshot of
unintelligible scribbling on restaurant receipts, tips demanded-for by red-lipsticked waitresses who ran out to chase them, grandpa’s tweed suit creasing stiffly at the elbow with every deep dig into his wallet.
but alas it’s only love, so
they stand with shy little smiles in front of ellis island,
his suit and her midi dress both from some department store in korea,
and the water behind them is frozen for them too, water that’s even more alien than them.
2 - home (ver. 2)
when water from home finally flowed into this coast it was
just blue-green muddle thwacking new england granite.
my eyes spot it, the bridge of my nose stuffed, propped above my kneecaps.
when water from home finally flowed into this coast after
they hit them they lapped at these ashy salt-stained boulders.
when water from home finally flowed into this coast
my eyes, downcast, stared out at the horizon,
pulsing of the bloody lump of tissue inside me quickening, but it’s not love.
no little smile of sepia blur but just blue-green muddle,
just tear-shaped waves lapping against salt-stained teenage cheeks
when water from home finally flowed into this coast
sun was glistening atop the water
and pearly seafoam with seven-thousand miles trapped inside flickered, and sent
me static-ridden code messages
but instead these swollen eyes stared not at the sea
but my dirty sneakers
gray and mud-caked
salty air carrying
not through loose-leaf album pages but
up stinging eyes that still ache.
from there the salty air travels far,
and the waves another seven thousand.
Victoria
Allegra Lai ‘26
She kicks the stage lights on,
the dust rolls off the turret tops.
“Victoria, Victoria,
“The show has begun!”
Lady, no gentleman,
The dollhouse can only seat one.
Victorian beauty, with tessellated tresses
And petticoated-parasol dresses.
Welcome home,
the kitchen holds,
A dusty bowl of porridge and a too-small chair,
for none other than a baby bear,
Who already knows it’s gone too cold.
In a boudoir up the spiraling stairs,
A closet of clothes with no signs of wear.
Roaring twenties price tags stitched on seams,
the flash of an actress and the manuscript of
her make-believe matinée dreams.
Against the floral powder room wallpaper,
the grappling reflection in the fairest mirror tantalizes her.
An apple more than once a day,
and for much longer than
a fortnight,
the doctor cowers away.
The wisteria has grown,
the house has been sold,
the stage lights flicker off,
this era foretold,
“Victoria, Victoria,
The show is bygone.”
Recurrent Rhythms
Chloé Lind ‘27
“Give me a song of hope and a world where I can sing it.”
- Pauli Murray, Dark Testament
Mosaics of nucleotides
develop into single-cells
forming claret rivers of
recurrent rhythm
Sanguine seas
flow through beached bodies
forming viscid tides of
recurrent rhythm
Conflicting currents
sound asynchronous a capellas
forming whitecaps of
recurrent rhythm
Coalescing voices
harmonize echoing discord
forming the cadence of
recurrent rhythm
Recurrent rhythms
punctuate refrains of hope
which I will sing out
until my dying breath.
A Navy-Nature Sky
Catherine Manley ‘27
Little heads tilt towards the sky
Filled with magnificent, remember-this balloons
The sun was hovering
In its navy-nature flight,
Bursting at the sunrise with twilight.
Mom’s eyes
Delight in an old gem shop with
Stones older than time
The sparks and glinting fabrics of light
Bring out her geologist’s mind
Two hours pass before we go outside.
In the desert air,
Ryan clasps the lock beneath my twenty-foot hair
Darkness rings around every little star
Like golden feathers at
Rest atop Moon’s light.
A fluorescent memory of dry
Air and sunrises in a half-awake state
It is a locket that never opens.
Road trips with my brother,
A man selling honey on the side
Of the road
My grandmother bought two jars full,
Handing them to us saying
We should keep it.
The honey was as sweet as earthen
Gold, just like her.
Now, tied to me by a silvery chain
Embodies what gold remains
Like the stars in the desert and
The blue of closed eyes.
