Dear Zion,

sadie burch

Anytime you say be 

benevolent the custard drools from my lips, 

cascading like a broken 

dam held back by one man. They say 

Eve hid in the garden behind 

flowers and bushes, hiding from 

God. So, let me do demolition on your lungs. 

Hack open your ribs, crawl 

inside, and slowly nail them shut again. Don’t bring 

Judas to justice, just let me light a cigarette. I’m 

keen on baked goods, making homemade 

lemon tarts in my home. I’m a 

memorial of a chef, and your heart is my oven, so let me 

nest in your cavities, I’m an auspicious 

opportunity. I’ll hang coloring sheets, they’re

pretty things, and when the priests show up for

questioning, maybe make my confessions for me.

Repentance and fasting will be easy. Or be 

silent. Be still. You’ve always been the stoic 

type and therefore true, so let’s make our 

union. I’ll pull out my umbrella on stormy days,

velvet violence will only be surface deep. Don’t be a

wishing well that runs out of wishes.

Exonerate me, let’s have a glass of 

Your Train Has Been Canceled. 

Zion, darling, we can light candles and eat 

Asparagus for dinner. 

Sadie Burch is a senior at Interlochen Arts Academy from Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. She started at the academy her junior year as an Interdisciplinary Arts student and later changed her major to Creative Writing. Sadie is the 2023 winner of the Charles Crupi Memorial prize, and will be published in The Albion Review. Sadie is taking a gap year before starting her studies at Bennington College VT.