Winner of the Toni Morrison Day Creative Writing Contest 2026
On the corner of Railroad and Springwood Avenues
a young woman stood unsteady
her bare feet corroded in dirt,
her white dress masked gray from smoke.
Down the length of Springwood, the bitter sounds of alarms violated the air.
The distant area was laid with a borage of voices:
“Get off me Whitey!” a young boy shouted at a trooper in riot gear.
“You gonna put my picture in the paper?” another mocked at a reporter.
“Cover your ears, get in the car,” a young mother cooed in a faux-calm voice.
Something echoed from a nearby store.
A firecracker?
Gunshot?
Unknown.
Casting frightened glances at the commotion around her,
the woman in the white dress spoke to no one in particular:
“I have to go down there. I have to find my son.”
She helplessly approached a group of men assembled at the corner.
“Take me down there. I need to find my son.”
She looked away towards the street and shook her head.
The men ignored her.
She turned and walked north towards the tracks
nervously wringing her hands,
thoughts circling the unknown of tomorrow.