Author: Jemmalee Maleport – Third Place Junior Division 2025
Grade 8 (Joseph K. Lumsden Bahweting Anishnabe PSA) Sponsor: Aaron Litzner
Willow trees can grow through sidewalks and homes.
Oak trees can live to 2,000 years old.
Pine trees can withstand storms,
and the whole winter.
Poppies are needed to make morphine.
What can a dandelion do?
I cannot grow through homes.
I cannot live over 10 years.
I am not needed to make morphine,
I am not able to do anything.
That is the problem with me.
I am no oak tree,
No willow,
No pine,
And no poppy.
I am just a weed,
A pest; a dandelion.
Never held in high regards.
Until today.
A human picked me.
Out of every flower, it was me.
I can feel my petal’s droop
With every step he takes.
It is me that harbor’s
his hands,
Not any other flower
Tonight, no.
I wonder what he will do
With me.
A beautiful bouquet
On the kitchen table?
An ad for perfume
Perhaps?
Only he doesn’t
Take me to any of those places.
If I’m reading the sign
Correctly now,
We are headed for
“Maple hospital”.
This man is on a foot pursuit
To a hospital.
Figures,
I am a dandelion after all.
This hospital reeks of
Antiseptic and bleach
To mask it.
The man nods at every
Person he walks by,
Until we enter “Room 076”.
In this room lies
An old woman that
Has many machines attached
To her.
She looks like
Death is calling her name.
A heart monitor is
Displayed next
To her body.
It faintly beeps
And boops.
Large tubes
Attach into her nose
Along with one lodged
Into her throat
Like a tentacle.
The man sits on an empty
Chair, he scoots it up
To approach her.
Her body is as
Pale as a sheet
Of chalky snow, her skin
almost
Translucent.
He moves his
Hands to clasp her
ghoul like ones.
At this point the
Man has set me
Down on the
Nightstand.
Now something
Out of the
Ordinary happens,
I think I dream it.
But yet it seems
Like the man has
Reached for
The plug
Connected to her tubes.
He slowly
tugs on it.
The room falls
Silent,
But only
Until a loud flatline
Sounds like
An alarm.
He sits there
For a moment.
He watches her
Body that is
Lifeless.
I want to scream
But alas I
cannot.
I feel helpless
And unable.
Then, he quickly
evades the room,
Swiftly dodging
the corners
Like a fox.
Two nurses
And what I assume
To be a doctor
Rush in minutes
Later.
They push on her chest
And inject
Liquids into
her.
But all
Fails,
She gives
Into death.
An hour passes,
A few cops
Arrive.
I feel like
A haunting ghost
Because nobody
Speaks to me.
In fact, the room
Is pierced by quietness.
Nobody speaks,
Maybe everyone is
Too a ghost.
It’s a while
Before movement
Strikes the room.
The cops start to
Carefully put
Objects around the room
Into labeled ziplocks.
All eyes avoid
The dead
woman and apparently me.
Soon enough through,
They Grab
me with their
Glove covered
Hands and compress
Me into those
Labeled ziplocks.
I am thrown
Into a police
Car that holds the
plastic
bin holding
The plastic bags,
Me included in one.
The container tosses
Me around
As we arrive to our destination;
Maple City Crime lab.
A couple people
In blue scrubs
And masks
Synchronize in
Their apparent
Studies.
The bin holding me
Is set down by
The unidentifiable
Person carrying
It.
The bin creaks at him
as it’s hard
Plastic mouth
Is forced open.
The person grasps
The bag and
Sets it down
On a study table
That the blue scrubs
Are all over.
The person then
Carries the
Pin heads to the
Dimly lighted
Side of the building.
The floor now
Groans
At the person
Gliding across it to
Set the bin
On 8 foot
Shelves.
The blue scrubs
Almost half
Rip the plastic
That holds me open.
They set me down
On a surgical
table
That forces me to have
The angel
Like lights to gleam
Into my eyes.
They start to
Dust me with things
And run me through
Machines.
They mutter
Some words to each other
And I only can make
Out one sentence;
“The prints match!”
It has been many nights
Since I have been
Dusted and then put in
this bag again.
And yet again I
Sit in this plastic bag,
In this hard plastic
Bin, in this hard plastic
Car.
Now I am alone through,
No other bags surround me
And I can see clearly where
I am headed.
“Maple city court”.
It is a while before I am
Revealed to a
big mighty judge
That sits on his
Fat podium.
Then I see him,
It is the man
That laid me on
The nightstand.
It’s the man that
Made me a present
For that woman’s death;
It’s the man that
Pulled her plug.
He crosses his arms
and
Gives the
Female lawyer
on the
Opposite side of him
A look of anger.
I assume this to be
The hero
of justice
For now,
the prosecutor.
Muffled words are called
From the judge
And all the people stand,
Then sit in sync as
The judge
Waves his hand.
The man’s legs
slowly make way
To the seat.
A soft hand reaches
Into the bin,
The female
Lawyer then
Waves the
Bag with me in it for all to see.
I see a group of
People gaze at it
As the woman says
That she would
Like to
Present this evidence.
The judge nods
And she goes on
That only
One pair
Of prints were
Found on this
Flower.
A shock
Of realization comes
As it hits me
That I am this
Piece of evidence.
I am the puzzle.
The bag has 2 gapping
Holes that the
Sound of the
All mighty judges
Voice
Rings into.
I can hear
The stumble of
The man getting
Off the little podium.
I can hear the
Crowd of people hoard
Into a different room
I can hear them come
And stand.
I can hear the man’s
Verdict;
Guilty on one count of 2nd degree murder.
I cannot grow through homes.
I cannot live over ten years.
I am not needed to make morphine,
But forever I stay
As the flower that
Solved a murder case.
For everyone to see,
How much good
This little weed of
A dandelion can be.
