I mistake my friend for a gun, and he offers to smuggle me out of harm.

I eat sugar cookies for breakfast. I should eat bird seed.

for years I’d be the cranky older son, jealous about the party.

We include fragments of poems that, while not contest finalists, provide one more way for America to shine a light on the ongoing horror in Ukraine.

I begged them: “Keep the money. Just give me the photos of my family.”

Thank you for never complaining about being in a cage.