The Trunk People
Brooklyn Mayberry Young Writers Issue | Poetry, Winter 2025
I am dying of thirst, I am floating
somewhere between worlds of water, worlds
one atop the other, one
is a dead sedated trench and the other is the gods’ cloud. Mine
is a mud puddle, a sunless pond packed with people, all thirsty,
bound and buried hands tied, I am in limbo—
undecided, unthinking and unfeeling for things I once loved.
I cannot live and I cannot die. And there is a tree—
There is a tree in this between, a celebrated sanctuary, a temple;
It has no roots and no leaves, not for me; those are splayed
in the worlds above and below. Its body
is home to the hollow, the harrowed,
the happily lost and the unloved. They delight in what we have:
the pillar, the spine, the hollows to hide in.
I do not belong here.
I am too thirsty, I want too much— I want
to spring from hollow depression, I want—
and nobody else here seems to want. I want
to drink from the cups of leaves. I’d lie myself out
atop a watery bed of roots but I’m stuck between
banks of a quick-moving river, a lukewarm tidal pool, a basin
of still water, the salt of the sea—somewhere no tree could ever want
to put down its roots— there is water, hope, all around me
but not for me, none for me. When I am on the cusp of leaving,
the invisible rip ties me down.
There is air that I haven’t tasted.
Stuck and stuffed in a box.
I am, dry and full of impure, dirty oxygen. There are no leaves
to wipe me clean, I need water
to rinse me away. There is water inside the tree.
I cannot feel it— but I can hear it,
a dull persistent rush going up,
pulled in from the roots and pulled out from the sky,
spilling over into the clouds, into paradise.
I could ride the flow with zeal, I’ll be
pushed through the spine and out
into blue, into the world of joyous partying gods.
Once I am free, I will hang happy from the branches
like I am one of them and overlook everywhere. Only
from there will I see all three worlds, I will see the roots
basking in the silent solemn dark. And the trunk
and all the people still living in it, I will see through
the mud caked to their skin. The leaves
and clouds will surround me, and I will breathe in their water
until they lift me up elated like I have never been
higher, and the sun has never been closer.
I will see nothing but water, plentiful and enough, and yet
I think I will always be thirsty.
______________________________________
Why is this piece your Trace Fossil?
“I must admit that “The Trunk People” was written for a school assignment; it’s part of a collection of five thematic poems that explore the deeper, personal meanings I find in trees. When I began writing this poem, I took inspiration from the Nordic tree of life, Yggdrasil, which spans the nine worlds of Norse mythology. In this poem, though, I only described three distinct planes. They are meant to represent three different states of mind: elation at the top, despair at the bottom, and unfulfilling indifference in the middle. I am only 16; I’m still in the first stages of my life. However, I do need to start making the decisions that will set a trajectory for where the rest of my life will take me: Which college do I go to? What should I major in? What field will I spend the majority of my life working for? Of course, I hope to choose what will bring me the most happiness—what will allow me “to drink from the cups of leaves,” if you will. This poem aims to encapsulate the sense of restlessness I feel as I think about making these decisions; I am excited to move on from high school, yet I’m also afraid that I’ll make the wrong choices—I’m afraid I will always be thirsty. This is an important chapter of my life, so I’m glad I was able to capture and fossilize it in writing.”
Brooklyn Mayberry (age 16) is a high school junior at Charleston County School of the Arts, majoring in Creative Writing since 6th grade. They have won a couple silver keys from the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, and that’s about it. Their pastimes include writing, drawing, biking, and tormenting their three younger siblings.
The Trunk People
Brooklyn Mayberry | Young Writers Issue | Poetry, Winter 2025
I am dying of thirst, I am floating
somewhere between worlds of water, worlds
one atop the other, one
is a dead sedated trench and the other is the gods’ cloud. Mine
is a mud puddle, a sunless pond packed with people, all thirsty,
bound and buried hands tied, I am in limbo—
undecided, unthinking and unfeeling for things I once loved.
I cannot live and I cannot die. And there is a tree—
There is a tree in this between, a celebrated sanctuary, a temple;
It has no roots and no leaves, not for me; those are splayed
in the worlds above and below. Its body
is home to the hollow, the harrowed,
the happily lost and the unloved. They delight in what we have:
the pillar, the spine, the hollows to hide in.
I do not belong here.
I am too thirsty, I want too much— I want
to spring from hollow depression, I want—
and nobody else here seems to want. I want
to drink from the cups of leaves. I’d lie myself out
atop a watery bed of roots but I’m stuck between
banks of a quick-moving river, a lukewarm tidal pool, a basin
of still water, the salt of the sea—somewhere no tree could ever want
to put down its roots— there is water, hope, all around me
but not for me, none for me. When I am on the cusp of leaving,
the invisible rip ties me down.
There is air that I haven’t tasted.
Stuck and stuffed in a box.
I am, dry and full of impure, dirty oxygen. There are no leaves
to wipe me clean, I need water
to rinse me away. There is water inside the tree.
I cannot feel it— but I can hear it,
a dull persistent rush going up,
pulled in from the roots and pulled out from the sky,
spilling over into the clouds, into paradise.
I could ride the flow with zeal, I’ll be
pushed through the spine and out
into blue, into the world of joyous partying gods.
Once I am free, I will hang happy from the branches
like I am one of them and overlook everywhere. Only
from there will I see all three worlds, I will see the roots
basking in the silent solemn dark. And the trunk
and all the people still living in it, I will see through
the mud caked to their skin. The leaves
and clouds will surround me, and I will breathe in their water
until they lift me up elated like I have never been
higher, and the sun has never been closer.
I will see nothing but water, plentiful and enough, and yet
I think I will always be thirsty.
________________________________________________________________________
Why is this piece your Trace Fossil?
“I must admit that “The Trunk People” was written for a school assignment; it’s part of a collection of five thematic poems that explore the deeper, personal meanings I find in trees. When I began writing this poem, I took inspiration from the Nordic tree of life, Yggdrasil, which spans the nine worlds of Norse mythology. In this poem, though, I only described three distinct planes. They are meant to represent three different states of mind: elation at the top, despair at the bottom, and unfulfilling indifference in the middle. I am only 16; I’m still in the first stages of my life. However, I do need to start making the decisions that will set a trajectory for where the rest of my life will take me: Which college do I go to? What should I major in? What field will I spend the majority of my life working for? Of course, I hope to choose what will bring me the most happiness—what will allow me “to drink from the cups of leaves,” if you will. This poem aims to encapsulate the sense of restlessness I feel as I think about making these decisions; I am excited to move on from high school, yet I’m also afraid that I’ll make the wrong choices—I’m afraid I will always be thirsty. This is an important chapter of my life, so I’m glad I was able to capture and fossilize it in writing.”
Brooklyn Mayberry (age 16) is a high school junior at Charleston County School of the Arts, majoring in Creative Writing since 6th grade. They have won a couple silver keys from the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards, and that’s about it. Their pastimes include writing, drawing, biking, and tormenting their three younger siblings.
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