COMMENTS FROM CONTEST JUDGE MARIE KANE:

The excellent quality of the high school poems made deciding the winners difficult. As I read and reread the poems and paid attention to poetic features used, I listened to the voices - what is being said here? How well is the poet saying it? In judging the ten finalists, "What Remains" is clearly my first place choice. Its power builds throughout the poem and the subtlety of its narrative offers a vivid reading experience. Ostensibly, the poem concerns the narrator driving a vintage car once owned by his absent father; however, the reader soon realizes that the car signifies much more. The '67 Impala represents the loss of that father, the loss of a brother to war, and the loss of childhood itself - plus the need to remember, and escape, all three.

The poem's purposeful arrangement of tercets alternating with couplets adeptly moves the narrative, while the effective line breaks enable the poem to unfold naturally. The first three lines bring the scene into focus and introduce the father's Impala as a meaningful symbol: "Their dad bought a '67 Impala from a junk yard in '83 / and loved it like a third son before he left the key on the coffee table / and abandoned all three of them for a better life in Hell." Wisely, the speaker does not offer an explanation for the father abandoning "all three of them." The fact that the father "bought [the car] from a junkyard in '83," when it was already sixteen years old and most likely dumped there by a previous owner, speaks to the classic details and desirability of the '67 Impala, and perhaps to the father's search for his own youth as well.

So in 2013, "thirty years later" (from 1983), the Impala "cannonades" down a highway, where the "moon's light flickers / in and out from behind dark clouds." The speaker (a son) drives the car, perhaps to discover or disclose 'what remains' of his father, his brother, himself, and his childhood. The impaired car's "right headlight's out" while the "left one flickers" like the moon's light that exposes "bruises" and "scratches" marring the car's hood and windows, respectively. The speaker reveals more deterioration of the car, comparable to the personal loss illuminated in the poem:

Bits of leather curl around the tears in the upholstery
where two long-gone children once carved their names

into the backbone of the passenger's seat, and in the back a leather
jacket lies crumpled in a ball.

The moon's intermittent light is enough to expose 'what remains' of the car whose age and partial neglect are evident. But the car exists because it was kept, runs because it was restored, and now serves as a symbol of the speaker's childhood and the absent father who "loved [the car] like a third son." The strong images of the "moon's light" flickering "in and out from behind dark clouds," the clock's "lost coherence," and the fact that "no one else is on the road to see" convey an appropriate eerie atmosphere. I especially appreciate the verb "cannonades"; it suggests both speed and force; one can almost hear the car roar down the road. It also implies that the car is being driven with no real purpose or destination, and that rushing away from something is the only objective this night. The line "where two long-gone children once carved their names" adds an elegiac quality to the poem and gives depth to the voice of the speaker. The resonant detail of the "leather jacket" in the backseat "crumpled like a ball" amplifies the car's neglect, especially since the owner of the jacket might be the father. Has he abandoned it for years in the back seat, like his children? The themes of desertion, destruction, and desperation are aptly suggested in these first six stanzas. They show this writer's talent for using small details, such as "two long-gone children" carving "their names / into the backbone of the passenger's seat" to represent the larger concept of a childhood that no longer exists, that has left only "tears in the upholstery."

The last third of "What Remains" describes the loss of the speaker's brother in war and the emotional aftermath of that loss, now embroiled with the loss of his father. This section of the poem illustrates this poet's willingness to take risks concerning meaning and metaphor, with excellent results:

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . The toy soldier crammed in the ashtray

stands watch as the living solder behind the wheel
punches a button; the heat turns on with a shot of air

Here, the little "toy soldier" remains "crammed in the ashtray" yet "stands watch" over the son driving the car who happens to be a "living soldier behind the wheel." Direct, moving, and ironic, these lines elevate the toy's meaning from the unsophistication of childhood to an improbable guardian watching over both brothers as soldiers themselves - although the toy is "crammed in an ashtray." Notice how subtly the writer introduces the concept of war into the poem.

The next three lines present another childhood toy, Legos that the brothers played with in the car, continuing the innocence of remembrance. The "shot of air" pushed out by the heater "rattle[s] the Legos shoved in the vents / with the plink only Legos in vents / can make." I applaud using Legos as another symbol of childhood naiveté - who has not played with, or watched one's own children play with, this stalwart toy of childhood? The use of onomatopoeia with "plink" adds the right note to this visual poem. Also, the fact that both of these toys still remain in the car suggests the strength of their symbolism.

In spite of showcasing these remembered toys, the poem demonstrates their ineffectiveness as any type of protection. In the forceful last three lines of the poem, the speaker explains that the plink of the Legos' sound rattling around in the vents "does not drown out the clink"

of his kid brother's dead dog tags colliding where they hang
from the review mirror, and the heat blasting from the Lego-
infested vents does nothing to soften the bones of the lone survivor.

When we read "kid brother's dead dog tags colliding" the poem darkens in meaning, and we realize with sickening reality what the speaker has known all along - that he is alone, that he is a "living soldier" and what all of that entails, that his younger brother died in war, that his father abandoned them both, and that this ruin of a car is the only thing holding anything together. That his bones won't "soften" in spite of the "heat blasting" deepens the desperation in the poem. All of these things - the dark night, the '67 Impala, the black jacket, the toy soldiers, the Legos, the car's heat - will not make any of the desperate knowledge or sense of loss of the "lone survivor" disappear. What the narrator can hope for is speed and movement away that might make all of this easier. But we realize by the end of the poem, as the speaker most likely knows, that neither this car, nor memories of toys, nor thoughts of his brother or father will mitigate anything.

The negative implications of the poem are aided by specific and suggestive diction. I am especially taken with the harsh and often violent verbs that dramatize the destructive meanings of the poem: "cannonades," "carved," "crammed," "punches," "shoved," "rattle," "drown out," "colliding," "hang," and "blasting." Many other phrases sharpen the themes of desperation and loss: "life in Hell," "bruises," "scratches," "tears," "backbone," "crumpled," "shot of air," the wonderful rhyme and hard 'k' sound of "plink and clink," "dead dog tags," "Lego-infested," "lone," and "bones." Also, notice that many of these choices are words of war.

A mature voice resonates in this poem; there is intelligence in the engagement with language. The author's full explorations of metaphor, strong and direct imagery, specific diction, and purposeful line breaks and structure confirm this poet's ability. I thoroughly enjoyed reading and writing about "What Remains." I encourage this poet to continue to put pen to paper so we may enjoy more of his strong poetic talent.

Thank you for the privilege of reading your work!

Marie Kane
Final Judge, Sarah Mook Poetry Contest
engmrk@aol.com