Anne Bost, 10, "Family Tree"

Deep brown branches stretch out towards the sky and come back to a strong unbreakable magnolia tree trunk. Its roots burrow into the ground and twist around soil sustained by decomposing organisms.

Magnolia flowers sit coolly in the hot southern weather. The white of their petals is browning and has gone soft and limp. They’re covered in almost human-like bruises that prickle with the dust of the crisped flower when pressure is put on them. A birth divine can fall to rotted glory in such a short time. A fate good as death sped along by the poison that feeds its growth. Rain and wind have weathered the surrounding ground as decades passed atop those rolling hills. There’s one specific magnolia there, wilting and dangling dangerously close to snapping off its vine and falling to the plump green grass. It squirms in the wind but seems its own proprietor. Trying constantly to separate itself from the pack, but something keeps it in its place because there is no leaving the magnolia tree. Its wilted petals droop lower until there is no fight left in it.