Little Inklings 2024

My blood is made of sweltering summers and sweet tea, of obnoxious cicadas screeching out from the trees on an early summer morning My blood is made of Bob Whites chirping out their familiar sounds and current rushing past me; the rivers resilient force bringing peace It is made of Pat and Pam; their honeycomb manes and their big black eyes staring right at me, begging for sweet apples It is made of long car rides to the flea market with Dolly Parton’s “Jolene” blasting on the radio as Simon and I sing along Made of the bubble gum pink lollipops from the gas station down the road, picked up after a long day of rolling down the river My blood is made of the dozen Jenny Han books I read that summer, laying on the cardinal red couch, with the window cracked half open My blood is made of blue jeans and clunky boots constructed perfectly for wandering in the woods and for matching Harold’s thick accent and silver hair It is made of Simon’s laugh as I belly flop into the emerald water and of the still moments held at the barn, legs crossed as Luna’s white fur brushes my skin, my hair falling to my face bringing attention to the tears rolling down my eyes, face blotchy It is made of charred marshmallows as I sit by the fire below a Tennessee night sky full of stars, memorizing every single constellation with my heart and soul My blood is made of home. THE SOUTH By Georgia Lindemann ’28 16