Poetry, Grades 10 – 12: Third Place

Hungry — Raleigh Kibort

It radiates


underneath my fingertips.

It sits

behind my belly button

churning, turning, gravitating.

It lays

on my chest

with a constant, ever-pulsing


It settles

at the base of my ankles

flexing, pushing forward


on the subtleties of syntax.

It crawls towards Fitzgerald,

inflates with the nuances of Dickenson.

It’s built on Seuss,

Founded on Silverstein,

Fed on Wilder.

It devours diction,

Needs Narration,

Manifests in Metaphors.


It will not cease,

It will not sleep.

Neither shall I.