Sound Bites, Issue 13: Kate Cramer

About our author:

Kate Cramer (she/her) is a sophomore Creative and Professional Writing and Communication double major. She is a former staff member of The Insider with poems published in Pendulum, and a member of the Frederick Honors College in addition to being an executive board member. 

Kate lives in a tiny town called Scottdale where she writes about family, the beach, and work.

Three Poems by Kate Cramer

My Last Day in Delaware

On the second Friday in June,

at 6 AM,

I sat in the cold sand and peeled off my socks,

then crumbled them into the toes of my shoes.

I plunged my feet into the grainy chill,

hugged my knees to my chest,

then let my head fall backwards

my nose pointing towards the sky.

The waves rolled against the muddied shore,

The tide began to shorten.

The foam teased my calves.

It was my last day in Delaware,

and the sun was rising.

It was an electric orange-red ball of heat

forcing its way through fog and clouds

settling in the pale blue of the sky.

Although I will see it every day

for the rest of my life,

the sun here was a warmer embrace

That smooths over the icy tip of my nose

and makes things feel more

alive.

everyone is home tonight

so me, tyler, and nolan get frozen yogurt 

the day before we leave for school.

nolan was the youngest,

still seventeen with a trunk and backseat full of

“crap,” nolan says,

 scooping brownie batter into his yogurt.

“it’s all just crap.

i went to target unsupervised.

i got a brita, though.”

tyler was the oldest,

on the cusp of twenty. 

last month he changed his major,

but now he piled a mix of skittles 

and m&ms and reese’s pieces

onto cake batter yogurt.

he took a bite.

“m&m,” he announced to the sticky picnic table

and to nolan and i who sat at it.

he took another. “skittle.”

there was an unidentifiable nostalgia

that came with eating ice cream

topped with candy and sweet junk,

as nolan begged tyler to chew with his mouth closed,

jesus christ, 

close your mouth,

and tyler simply blurted “mm… m&m.”

things like this remind me that 

we are nothing more 

than tall children

who will be living alone 

in twelve hours.

we stretched out the time,

when one of us even suggested going home,

another redirected the conversation.

after we cycled through 

the same things we talk about

every time we see each other,

the same people, junior year, 

who’s pregnant and who’s married,

we walked to our cars.

next week, 

nolan will text our group-chat at 8:05 pm saying

“i love college. i love my roommate.”

at 8:08 pm, he’ll say

“i hate it and i want to go home.”

tyler will say “we’ll see each other soon.”

then, though we won’t tell each other, 

we’ll scroll through old pictures 

like reminiscing on dated postcards 

sent from the war,

or a “wish you were here!” 

from uniontown’s frozen yogurt shop. 

tonight, however,

we’ll eat copious amounts of sugar

and scream to taylor swift

and tv girl

and peter mcpoland in the car

and everyone is home.

In My Life

My dad and I stood at the edge of the shore

and let cool late-morning water

roll over our skin.

He stood with his hands on his hips,

adjusted the brim of his baseball cap,

and dodged waves that grew higher,

threatening to darken his grey tee-shirt.

We didn’t speak,

but he stared at me from the corner of his eye

through wire-framed glasses.

I stared back

from my peripheral.

We nodded in a silent agreement,

then forced ourselves up the steep shoreline.

Heavy feet stomped into uneven sand,

our tired calves sent grains flying.

The parched sun breathed 

down the back of our necks

while we washed our feet in the wooden box

next to the dunes.

In my life, dad didn’t always have the words.

But the extended palm

trading off for my bag and shoes,

the knee he took to clip

the pesky buckles closed

on my sandals

that I still couldn’t do nineteen years later,

the Beatles song he hummed

under his breath on the walk to the car 

in the sweltering heat

said everything

I needed to hear.

About our column:

Sound Bites is a poetry column intended to be read, heard, and tasted. It is finger food, messy and hands-on, compacting all the sweetest bits of a writer into a few small moments. The column will accept student writing submissions in the form of poetry or short prose for every issue from any and all majors, ages, and backgrounds.

Submissions can be emailed directly to Poetry Columnist Jamie Harrover at jeh275@pitt.edu. Parameters for submissions are as follows:

Please attach a Word (.docx) document of your piece(s) with a maximum of 750 words each

Include a short but personal bio about yourself with a maximum of 200 words

Specify your preferred name and pronouns

Please email me a cover photo of yourself— professional or not.

If you submit multiple pieces, please give them a group title of your choosing (i.e. “Three Poems by Lindsey Kutz”)

Be prepared for follow-up questions 🙂